Toilet Bowl
by It's Unavoidable
Summary: Find me. Hold me. Hold me tight. Hold me together. I can't do it anymore. Pairings: Creek, Stenny. Warnings: abuse, rape, excessive amounts of gay, angst, suicide
1. The Three Things

Yay new story! :D i must hate myself :DDDD also trying something new with the chapters, who knows how this'll go!

Pairings" Creek, Stenny, maybe Token/Wendy

Warnings" there is most definitely a reason this is rated M. trust me.

Enjoy!

**a/n**

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**Chapter 1: The Three Things That Happened That Changed Everything Forever**

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_**Round here / we're carving out our names / round here / we all look the same / round here / we talk just like lions / but we sacrifice like lambs / round here / she's slipping through my hands**_

**_-Counting Crows, 'Round Here'_**

**_._**

"Son, we haven't found anyone else in South Park willing to adopt."

Tweek looked up at the man, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. He twitched hard, irritation and caffeine combining to almost throw him off his chair. Clutching his Styrofoam cup of awful office coffee to his chest, he made a grunt/whine of abject hopelessness.

Why didn't they understand he didn't _want_ to stay in South Park? He hated it here. Really, REALLY bad things happened to him here, things he just _knew_ wouldn't happen if he were gone.

"I don't _GAH! _want to stay." He whimpered. The man, who seemed nice enough and was willing to give Tweek as much dreadful coffee as he wanted, smiled and patted him on the head. Tweek twitched. He hated when strangers touched him, because what if they were from the CIA and OH GOD what if they planted a BUG on him!

"I know it's hard. But it'll be fine. Just talk to him, okay?"

Tweek shrugged and twitched, long practice allowing him to perform the simultaneous gestures without spilling his coffee. He supposed once the guy met him he would be freaked out enough by his twitching to leave, and then he could get out of South Park.

The nice man walked out the door, leaving Tweek behind. He twitched and sipped his coffee, which was truly awful, and made a face. He had honestly never believed coffee could taste this awful, and he was trying to decide if it was actually coffee or just finely blended sewage. Oh god, what if it WAS sewage and he got AIDS and DIED!

Panicking, Tweek threw the coffee away from him.

In slow motion he watched the cup spin, liquid spilling everywhere, towards the door. The door began to creak open. Of course. Good things just didn't happen to him.

The cup slammed into the wall next to the door, coffee exploding in a shower of brown. The door finished opening, exposing the stunned but untouched nice man, and an equally stunned but not quite as clean new man.

"_Ngh_ sorry." Tweek mumbled, though he wasn't really sorry at all. He was too busy examining the man splattered in coffee.

He looked… surprised, mostly. Friendly enough. Big, in a square, muscle-y sort of way.

Tweek jumped when the nice man let his arm fall from the door knob.

"Umm… Tweek?"

He sounded so confused. Tweek twitched again. He hated when people wanted explanations. They always got twisted around in his head, and when they came out they were all wrong. And then people HATED him because he couldn't EXPLAIN.

"SORRY!" He tried to say. It came out as a shout. "Too much _pressure_." The nice man shook his head and looked away. He knew what Tweek was like.

The man that Tweek didn't know, the one who wanted to keep him here, looked from the stain on the wall to Tweek's shaking hands. Tweek fidgeted under his gaze. It was too… intense. That was it. It was trying to see Tweek all the way through, like an X-Ray. OH SWEET TAP DANCING BABY JESUS, what if he was a superhero, and he DID have X-Ray powers! And he hated Tweek for throwing coffee at him and he – OH GOD – decided Tweek was his NEMESIS or something! He didn't have powers! How was he supposed to FIGHT?

"I think I want to adopt him." The man said after a long moment of examination said. He smile had an edge Tweek didn't understand.

* * *

"Um _ngh_ can I have some cofee?" Tweek asked, holding out his styrofoam cup to show how empty it was. The man didn't even bother to look.

"We don't drink coffee." The man smiled and patted Tweek's hair. Tweek bit back a shriek of terror. JESUS, without coffee, how could he LIVE? He NEEDED coffee like he needed AIR! Without it he would SUFFOCATE and be thrown out in a GUTTER, where a hobo would FIND him and sell his body parts in AFGHANISTAN! JESUS CHRIST!

"Are you – NGH! – sure?" He asked desperately, mind racing over all the terrible things that would happen to him if he didn't have his beloved coffee. There were too many for Tweek to comprehend!

"Yes." The man said with dismaying firmness, putting Tweek's bags on the table. Tweek twitched and clutched at his hair.

"But I NEED coffee!" He shrieked, starting to panic. "I NEED it to LIVE!" His elbow flashed out in a spaz and knocked hard against the wall, causing him to scream in surprise and pain. Jumping with surprise, he found himself toppling forward.

Only to be met by a slap on the cheek that shook him to his core and somehow calmed his panic.

"There is no coffee here and that is final!" The man bellowed, true anger in his voice. Cowering, Tweek whimpered his agreement. No, he didn't need coffee, of course it wasn't good for him to be drinking it, he was a bad boy for even thinking about it.

"Good. See, all you have to do is be good and we'll get along fine." The man's face broke into a sunny smile and Tweek smiled back hesitantly. It seemed like an easy solution. All he had to do was be good. He could be good.

* * *

Kenny watched Kyle climb into the back of the car with the feeling that he was standing on a cliff edge, his toes projecting out into the sky. This was the _last time _he would ever see Kyle. And it hurt like a motherfucker.

Stan was sobbing in typical faggoty Stan-ish fashion, clinging to Kyle and making a trillion promises to keep in touch and never forget each other. Kenny shrugged and looked away. He might be only ten, but he was smart. He knew how things went.

You lost things. You lost _people_. If you were lucky you found them again, if you were really lucky they were found before you outgrew them. If you had the luck of a four-leafed clover picked at 11:11 when there was a shooting star overhead on the night of a full moon, you would never lose them again.

Kenny had never considered himself lucky.

But the McCormick's were survivors. They rolled with the punches and somehow, someway, always managed to land on their feet. Like fucking cockroaches. He had to, because no one else could go through what Kenny did and still come back for more.

Kyle patted Stan's shoulder and looked past to Kenny. Their eyes met for a fragment of forever and Kenny saw that Kyle understood the thoughts half-heard in his own mind. They were breaking apart, permanently.

Kenny read the words off of Kyle's lips as he mouthed them.

_Keep Stan safe_.

Kenny smiled and nodded, understanding perfectly. He gently pulled Stan back, letting Kyle close the door. Kyle waved out the window as his dad slammed the back of the car shut.

The car pulled away with the sound of gravel crunching. Stan held Kenny's hand and continued to sob shamelessly. Kenny thought that maybe gravel under car wheels was the lonely sound in the world.

* * *

"Just say you aren't a fag." The voice was deceptively friendly, coaxing. Craig tried to breathe around the shoe on his throat. It was understandably difficult.

"Fuck you." He ground out, managing to work up the energy to lift his favorite finger.

The shoe on his windpipe pulled back slightly and rushed forward, slamming into Craig's chin. He clung desperately to his silence, though he had bitten his tongue so hard blood flowed. Pain radiated through his jaw to his head, like the worst migraine he'd ever had.

"Come on, all you have to do is say it." The coaxing voice was cracking at the edges now, malice and hate leaking through. The smile above him was wavering at the edges, fading like a mirage into the hateful desert.

Craig gathered all the saliva and blood in his mouth and spat.

Clyde stumbled back, wiping the viscous, Pinkish mixture off his face. The look on his face, which had been friendly to match his voice, was now as twisted and hateful as Craig knew he really was.

"You're going to pay." He whispered. His voice was eerily blank.

Craig flipped him off and glared. He was going to take this. And he was going to remember. And someday, when Clyde was on the ground, when he was humiliated and broken just like Craig…

Craig was going to remind him of this. And he was going to make Clyde bleed.

* * *

**a/n**

feedback is apreciated :)


	2. Cry in the Rain

Hay guys :D did you miss me? of course not, because of how quick i uploaded this! people who watch orpheus, i am so so sorry. i will get my ass in gear eventually. people who don't... read on i guess :/

enjoy!

******a/n**

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**Chapter Two: Sometimes I Like to Cry in the Rain**

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**_It started out as a feeling / which then turned into a hope / which then turned into a quiet though / which then turned into a quiet word / and then that word grew louder and louder / till it was a battle cry…_**

**_-Regina Spektor, 'The Call'_**

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It was raining.

Of course it was.

Token shifted on the ornate step he was lounging on, trying to find sunlight. Some color would be nice. Everything was a dull shade of gray, brown, or green now. Mold on more moldy mold. Would it kill the world to put in some red or orange? Or at least some mahogany or purple. He would even settle for the white of snow at this point.

Clyde sniggered beside him. The sound gurgled and grated on Token's nerves. He twitched.

"Look at that." Clyde's malicious voice sounded by his ear. An arm extended into his apathetic view, pointing through the shifting rain. "Freak."

Token glanced over to see who Clyde's latest victim was.

"A little young for your attention, don't ya think?" He sighed, waving a tired hand.

A small figure perched on the edge of a picnic table, seemingly examining the cloudy sky. Slightly weird, yes, but no big deal.

"No, no, he's just small. He's in one of my classes. I think he even has English with you." Clyde told him excitedly. Token glanced over again. Yes, he was vaguely familiar. Token dredged his memory for some clue as to his name. Tweek – something, right? He could recall something to do with sumo wrestling.

He didn't think about that to hard.

"Whatever." Token looked away, feeling tired. He was in no mood for Clyde's games. Not that he was ever in the mood for them.

"I dare you…" Clyde trailed off as he examined the poor boy. "I dare you to shove him into that puddle."

Token couldn't hold back a snort.

"Just a little elementary school, Clyde." He tried to joke. Actually, puddle-shoving was fairly sophisticated for Clyde. Sometimes it surprised Token that the moron could think in complex sentences. Usually the dare was the equivalent of 'beat up that kid and get away with it'.

"Whatever." Clyde scowled. "You scared?"

"No." Token looked up sharply, angry. He always forgot how easily Clyde could press his buttons and get him to do anything.

"Riiiiigght. You chicken? You scared of a little kid? Pussy." Clyde laughed, a hard, angry sound.

"Shut up." Token glared at Clyde, pulse pounding in his ears. He knew what was coming, knew exactly which thing Clyde was going to use against him, but that didn't help. If anything, it made him angrier.

"Or maybe…" Clyde's voice went dangerously soft and cunning. "Maybe you won't push him for a _different _reason. You like yourself a little boytoy? Want the little cocksucker? Faggot."

Red heat exploded behind Token's eyes. He shoved Clyde away from him and glared.

"Shut the fuck up. I'll go push the kid in the motherfucking puddle."

* * *

It was raining.

He was sitting in it, of course. No one was around to judge him. Of course, there were the people on the roofed steps, but no one else was insane enough to be out in the rain.

He tilted his head to the sky. The drops got in his eyes and fell on his tongue when he stuck it out. They tasted cool and sweet. He wondered when South Park had last gotten rain. It seemed all he could bring to mind was smooth expanses of snow. He liked this grayness though. It was easy to fade into, felt smoother than the sharp snow white.

A footstep scuffed on the ground behind him.

Tweek flinched and tensed, though he didn't turn to look. Sometimes that was all it took to provoke them to action. If he didn't move they usually just tossed off an insult and left.

For a silent moment he savored the hope they would leave him alone.

_Impact._

A long second of teetering on the brink.

_Falling. _

He toppled towards the wet asphalt, trying lethargically to break his fall. He wasn't quick enough, slamming into the ground side first and rolling over onto his stomach. The jarring impact shook loose a whimper of anguish.

Cold water soaked his pants and shirt. Slowly, painfully, he turned over and looked up to find who had shoved him.

Token glared down at him.

A boy Tweek vaguely recognized crowded behind him, hooting and dancing around like a monkey that had thrown a particularly large ball of poop. Tweek didn't, couldn't pay him any attention. He wasn't the immediate threat.

The immediate threat was Token. Token, glaring down at him. Token, wiping his hands on his jeans as if he had touched something contaminated.

"Lookit, the lil' baby gonna cry?" The familiar boy – Clyde, he remembered – called raucously. Tweek still couldn't pay attention.

_Why? _He asked silently, staring at Token. _Why do you hate me? Am I really that disgusting? _

For a second Token stared back at him and he wondered almost idly if he had spoken his thoughts aloud. But no.

"You gonna stare deep into his eyes all day?" Clyde called when his previous comment had garnered him the attention he deserved, which was none.

"Leave the fag where it belongs." Token sneered down at him before turning on his heel and stalking away. Clyde followed, whispering crude commentary in Token's ear and sending Tweek a terrifying backwards glance.

Tweek looked longingly at the people behind the windows for a second. Not one even glanced in his direction.

Tweek stayed frozen in the water, desolation paralyzing his limbs. Rain dripped in his eyes and rolled down his cheeks.

* * *

It was raining.

The thick drops hit the glass windows and slid down next to Bebe's ear. If she turned her head just so a reflection of what was outside shone in Stan's mirrored sunglasses. Why he was wearing sunglasses on such a miserable day was beyond her, of course.

The world was even more gray than normal in the lenses. But it was easy enough to see the boy in the puddle.

She blinked a few times to make sure she wasn't seeing things again.

There was a boy sitting in a puddle.

Several large picnic tables framed him, dwarfing his figure. His things, a few binders and damp notebooks, sat on the one closest to him, loose pieces of notebook paper slowly melting in the drizzle.

His head was turned away from her, but the way his shoulders slumped and his hands fell by his sides spelled his sadness easily enough. He was so small, too. And soaking wet, his clothes plastered to his body, his blond hair shading his face further.

"Bebe! Are you even listening?" Wendy snapped in her ear.

"What?" Bebe flinched dramatically. "What'd I miss?"

Kenny snickered, surreptitiously moving closer to Stan. He grinned and, when he thought no one was looking, hugged Kenny tighter. His head shifted and Bebe lost her view of the boy in the puddle.

She considered turning and looking for him, checking that he wasn't just a figment of her fucked-over imagination. But then Wendy snapped her fingers in Bebe's face and she forgot about the boy.

* * *

It was raining.

Craig dashed through it, ragged breathing not enough to drown out the hate-filled shouts behind him.

"Just wait, fag! You're dead when we catch you!"

"Right." Craig muttered to himself, though his panting destroyed the sarcastic edge. He wasn't scared of those losers. Their speed was no match for his adrenaline powered feet. Skidding into the wall next to the door, he wrenched it open, flipping off his pursuers as he slipped inside.

He was safer here. After the first time, when he had come home looking a little like a Picasso painting, his parents had shaken themselves out of their self-absorbency long enough to put the hanging threat of a lawsuit over Mr. Mackey's head.

If a teacher saw them attacking him, they _had_ to help. They couldn't just turn away, or laugh and toss in an insult of their own. Not again.

Craig leaned against the concrete wall next to a bank of lockers, trying to catch his breath. It really was exercise, being chased around the school by homophobes. He counted himself lucky they hadn't been Clyde or Cartman this time and didn't have the muscle power to catch him outside. He had no protection at all out there.

Drops of rain trickled down the glass window across from him. He tracked them automatically with his eyes. The locker's metal hinges were freezing against his cheek.

At last he stirred. Lunch was halfway over and he hadn't even eaten anything.

He meandered over to his usual lunch table, sliding in between Wendy and an irate Bebe. Stan and Kenny were cuddling like the fags they were across from him. Not that Craig could really insult them for it, not when he was in the same general boat. People in glass houses shouldn't throw stones.

These where his friends now. How the world turned.

"They get you?" Bebe asked, abandoning her argument with Wendy to acknowledge Craig. She got an ironic stare and a lifted finger for it.

"Not this time." He shrugged, turning his favorite finger on the rest of the lunchroom on principal. He knew those people. They would try to _eat_ him given half a chance.

He was still tired from his run. Fear took a lot out of you. Setting his head down on the cool tabletop, he cautiously relaxed.

Ten minutes later the bell rang. Craig got up with the group and gathered his stuff. Bebe was staring confusedly out the window.

"What're you looking at?" Craig asked, following her line of sight out to the asphalt-covered front of the school. There was a small selection of picnic tables huddled in the middle. A puddle big enough to qualify as a small pond shone next to the leftmost table. A piece of soggy notebook paper floated in it.

"Nothing." Bebe shook herself and grabbed her bag. Craig shrugged at her insanity and followed her farther into the belly of the school.

* * *

**a/n**

trust me, Tweek is a lot more fucked up than he seems. so are Craig and Bebe. not Kenny and Stan though, i thought id give them a bit of a break. Mary's also pretty sane. but we'll see.

make the best of the intro you guys, it goes downhill from here :D


	3. Little Problems

I hate how small this chapter is. BUT ON THE OTHER HAND. this is a major developmental chapter! like, the last one was character intros. this is getting to the meaty deliciousness that is the angst and ruin i will bring to these poor characters :D

IN THIS CHAPTER: you discover some of the many problems Tweek has. Token is shown to be less than an asshole but still not quite a good guy. and Clyde is given a freudian excuse! stay tuned! :D

enjoy!

**a/n**

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**Chapter 3: We All Have Our Little Problems**

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**_It doesn't hurt me / you wanna feel how it feels / You wanna know / know that it doesn't hurt me / you wanna hear about the deal I'm making… _**

**_ -Placebo, 'Running Up That Hill'_**

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Sitting on the cold porcelain seat, leaning against the equally cold tile wall, Tweek listened to the chatter of the other stalls temporary occupants. They were loud and annoying, inane and trite. Tweek wished them all away, despite the fact he also dreaded being alone.

He shivered in his wet clothes, wrapping his arms around his knees for warmth. The contrast only served to make his shivering more potent.

The door slammed one last time and he was alone in the freezing bathroom. Minutes later, the last bell rang and he was officially late. Not that anyone would care.

Slowly he slid off the toilet seat and down the wall to the dirt-smeared floor. A short clip of memory was reeling endlessly behind his eyes. Token, looking down at him with all the loathing and disgust one reserved for rotting dead things, turning and saying: _Leave the fag where it belongs. _

_Token was right to hurt me_, Tweek thought manically. _I am nothing. I am less than nothing. Sickening, filthy, repulsive, worthless. Disgusting. _

Slowly he got to his knees and lifted the toilet seat.

_I have to make myself clean. There has to be a way. There has to be. If not… _He flinched away from the ugly black thought, but there was nowhere to go. Other ugly black thoughts jeered at him, reminding what a filthy, disgusting person he was.

He leaned over the freezing toilet bowl and watched the clear water ripple with his breath. Drawing in a shuddering heave of air, watching the deeper ripples.

He pushed the seat all the way up, letting it rest against the shiny metal flusher. With his other hand he touched his lips. They were dry and cracked, as sickeningly flawed as the rest of him.

A quick rush of movement and he thrust two fingers down his throat. He choked and gagged and, finally, vomit rushed down his esophagus and out of his mouth. He heaved for a solid two minutes, emptying sour bile into the basin.

After the last convulsion had passed, he leaned weakly against the wall. The sharp smell of vomit floated around him, but he was glad of that. He deserved it. He belonged with the bile and shit smeared over his skin.

When he finally worked up enough energy, he pulled out some toilet paper and wiped his face. He threw it in with the vomit without looking at what was floating in there, unlocked the stall and lurched out.

Stumbling the three steps to the sink, he peered into the mirror. A pale, sick-looking skeleton stared back. Despite the toilet paper he had wiped with earlier, vomit still smudged his face.

Tweek's breathing hitched and broke and without any warning he was sobbing into the sink. Tears, cloudy with dried vomit, splashed onto the already damp ceramic.

"I have to get clean." Tweek mumbled to himself, reaching numbly for the paper towels. He wet one of them in the sink and started to scrub at his cheeks.

He blinked, realizing the flimsy paper was coming apart in his hand. He dropped it and reached for another. He had to get clean. He had to.

"Stan, are you-?" The door opened and a blonde boy stuck his head in.

For a second he looked at Tweek, expression blank with shock. Tweek stared back, _his_ expression blank because he couldn't summon any emotion to cover it.

"Are you sick?" He asked, dashing in.

"No." Tweek said, and then chastised himself. He should have said yes. It would have reassured him somewhat.

"Then what-?" The boy turned and saw the vomit sitting in the toilet. For a long time he looked from Tweek to the toilet and back. He just stood there, wondering if he should be doing something.

Slowly his brain connected his face with a name. Kenny. He was Kenny, the one who died all the time. Dating that other boy, Stan.

"Oh, Tweek." He breathed finally. Tweek tensed, wondering why he would remember his name.

He threw his arms around him, hugging him. Just as suddenly he let go, cursing and brushing at his newly wet clothes. Tweek was suddenly grateful for the sopping, icy clothes clinging to his frame. The sudden contact had scared him more than fifty Tokens.

Finally Kenny stopped trying to dry his parka and returned to look at Tweek.

"You have to tell someone. There are things you can do to stop this, pills you can take." Kenny sounded very uncertain. Tweek closed his eyes against the headache starting to sting behind his eyes.

"No." He had to lie now, despite the fact he felt like curling up and sleeping forever. He was so very tired.

"What?" Kenny blinked at him, bewildered.

"You can't tell anyone. I want to stop myself on my own. I know…" he knew this wasn't wrong, was _helping_ him, but he wouldn't understand that, "I know it's wrong. But I want to fight it on my own. I want to be the one who stops myself, not medication."

"But…" Kenny was halfway convinced, Tweek could see. He didn't want to be responsible; he wanted to believe he would take care of it on his own. He wanted to believe he was a good person.

"I'llbe fine. If I can't handle it on my own, I'll talk to you, kay? Please don't tell anyone." He knew he had convinced Kenny when he nodded and went to flush the toilet.

"I won't tell. I promise." He patted him on the shoulder, shook the icy water off his hand, and left.

Tweek collapsed against the wall.

* * *

"Damnit." Token hissed, turning over in bed. He couldn't sleep.

Glancing over at the clock, he growled when he realized it was already one AM. Damnit. Just god-fucking-damnit.

He knew why he was still awake. It was that kid, that stupid kid, that stupid fucking kid in the wrong place at the right time to catch Clyde's malevolent eye.

_It was necessary._ He reasoned. _Just another dare, another stupid dare to make sure I was still dangerous. Untouchable. _

But the way the kid had fallen, like he didn't have the energy to even try to break his fall, and the way he had _landed_… The sound he had made when he had hit the wet asphalt, a cross between a cry of pain and a sob, and how had just _sat_ and _looked_ at Token…

He turned over onto his stomach and screamed softly into his pillow. And he knew what he had done next, oh yes he did.

_Leave the fag where it belongs._

Now, time separating the urgency of the moment from him, the sheer unnecessary cruelty slapped him.

The boy hadn't said anything, hadn't gone for his throat like Token would have in his position, hadn't done anything at all. Just sat there and _still_ looked at Token, and there hadn't been anything in his gaze at all.

And he could have sworn that at the end of the lunch break the boy had still been sitting in the puddle. He had seen the goddamn little figure out of the corner of his eye the whole time.

He rolled over again and let a stream of expletives roll off his tongue. It didn't look like he was getting any sleep tonight.

* * *

Clyde was catapulted out of the bed by a crash and a scream. The scream was his little brother. The crash was an empty beer bottle.

He was rocketing down the hall before he was even awake. Caleb screamed again and he doubled his speed, rebounding off a wall and into the living room.

His dad, the drunk bastard, had Caleb by the arm, twisting it harshly. A shattered beer bottle lay on the floor, twinkling mockingly in the early morning light.

Clyde's fist connected with his dads face, knocking him off of Caleb. Caleb broke away and sensibly fled. Clyde glared at his father.

"You know the rules about Caleb." He stared his father down. "You don't touch him. Ever. You hear that, you fat, stupid bastard?"

"Shuddap, fag." The drunk staggered over to the couch and fell into it.

"No. you listen to me." Clyde walked over and got in his face. "You don't ever touch Caleb. Got that?" A pair of childish, bloodshot eyes blinked owlishly up at him.

"Broked m' bottle." He mumbled rebelliously.

"It was empty, you moron." Clyde snorted and went to find a broom for the glass.

* * *

**a/n**

Bulimia is a terrible thing, mmkay? don't do it, mmkay?


	4. Party Some More

AHHHH GUYS FANARTZ. not for this story its for Orpheus BUT STILL I GOT SOME BITCHIN FANARTZ :D i am so happy YOU DONT EVEN KNOW and you can tell i am happy BECAUSE I AM SHOUTING AT YOU

check the link in my profile :D it's coooooooliooooooo! thanks dancingwithsmurfs :D

on a side note, this chapter sucks. you can skip it if you want :( although that would make me sad, because i cried blood to finish this thing

enjoy!

**a/n**

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**Chapter Four: Party 'Till the Sun Comes Up and Party On Some More**

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**_Tell me that you're all right / yeah, everything is all right / oh, please tell me that you're all right / yeah, everything is all right_**

**_ -Motion City Soundtrack, 'Everything Is Alright'_**

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Tweek didn't know how Bebe had gotten him to come. All he knew was that he hadn't belonged in that party. The lights were too bright and the crowd was too big and he seemed to be the only one there with no one to talk to.

He tried not to cling to Bebe. He knew he annoyed her. She had probably only brought him along to guide her drunk ass home. So he sat on the stairs, in the dark, watching people beneath him laughing and dancing and making out. People passed him, clinging to each other and giggling. He curled up into a smaller ball.

Once Red had stepped on his fingers. He had cried out and she had looked down at him. There had been no recognition in her eyes.

"Sorry." She had giggled before being dragged away by her dark-haired companion.

Tweek had been relieved when Bebe had finally found him and demanded imperiously to be taken home.

She hadn't noticed the tear-tracks crawling down his face.

* * *

The world was tilting dangerously. Bebe plastered herself to Tweek for safety.

"Hold on, imma fall off!" She gasped. Tweek ignored her.

"Please less weight, Bebe." He groaned, trying to balance her. She could feel his bones through his shirt. There wasn't any padding between them and the cloth of his clothes.

"Yer skinny." Bebe slurred, pawing Tweek's elbow to make her point. Tweek very pointedly moved her other hand from where it had strayed dangerously close to his crotch area.

"Yes, yes, don't need any judgments from the girl about to pass out on me." He snapped.

"Shutcher face, jerkass." Bebe snarled back, swinging a clumsy elbow into his side. He yelped and heaved her off him, onto the grassy verge.

Bebe sprawled on the vegetation, laughing hysterically. There was just something about Tweek in a high temper that was hilarious. He looked so harmless; it was impossible to consider he might actually get angry.

"Aw, yer not so scary." Bebe snorted, tugging Tweek down next to her. Tweek gave her a heavily ironic stare that went miles above her inebriated head.

"And you're not funny. Why do I let you rope me into these things?" He fell back and glared at the smoggy sky.

"Shaddap. Ya need ta hang out with more peeeeeeple." Bebe slapped the ground for emphasis.

"I don't like those people." Tweek muttered. Bebe laid her head on his shoulder and gave him an outrageous look through her lashes.

"Why not?" She asked. Tweek twitched and dug his hands into the grass.

"How drunk are you, Bebe?" Tweek asked instead of answering. Bebe grinned sloppily.

"Sooooooo wasted." She hummed happily. "Can't even seeeeeeeeeee straight."

"You won't remember anything in the morning, will you?" Tweek gave her a sharp look. Bebe didn't notice, too busy contemplating her hand.

"Nah." She sighed. Tweek nodded.

"The reason I don't like those people." Tweek clenched his fingers into a fist, catching and tearing at the grass. "Is because they are so perfect."

"They aren't perfect." Bebe wrinkled her nose and poked Tweek in the arm, as if it was _him_ not getting the point.

"But _look_ at me. _Compare_ me to them. I'm _nothing_ to what they are." Tweek let his head fall back, eyes searching the sky. "I just want them to stop _looking _at me. All the time, just looking and looking and judging. Why don't they like me, Bebe? What did I do wrong?"

"But yer niiiiiiiiice." Bebe grinned an innocent grin. Tweek made a harsh sound of annoyance.

"You don't understand, though. I'm disgusting, Bebe." Tweek said, holding out his limp hands for examination. "Filthy and worthless." He was laughing, the sound brittle and jagged.

"S'okay. Just as disgusting, aren't I?" She slurred, holding out her own hands, parallel to Tweek's. Needle scars littered the insides of her elbows.

"But you're just rotten on the outside. What if the rot goes all the way through, though? You cut it out, right? Bebe, like you throw away dirty apples, right?" He was till laughing, but if Bebe hadn't been looking at him she would have thought the ripping noises were sobs.

"But I love you, Tweek. You're beautiful." Bebe half-fell, half-climbed into Tweek's lap. He held her as she puked her guts out on the street.

* * *

"Kenny, isn't this a little late?" He glanced over at the clock. It was just after midnight.

"Not for you." Kenny sighed. Stan grinned.

"Insomnia has its uses. I get my homework done, for one." Stan set his book aside and rolled over onto his stomach. "What's up? This is unusual, even for you."

"I couldn't sleep. I wanted to talk to you." He could almost hear Kenny shrugging, waving away such trivial thoughts with a flick of his hand.

"Cool. Whatcha want to talk about?" He asked, toying with the corner of his pillowcase.

"Anything." Kenny sighed, and Stan heard him roll over, blanket rustling. "Wish you were here." He murmured after a while.

"What, in bed?" Stan tried to joke lightly.

"Wherever. Just here." His voice was tired and Stan wondered if he had actually gotten any sleep yesterday, either. Kenny usually jumped at the chance to trade innuendo.

"Is something wrong?" He asked hesitantly. Neither of them was any good at handling the emotional crap when it came up. He had no idea what to do.

"No…" His answer came out sounding like a question.

Stan didn't say anything.

"Well…" He said after a moment of silence. "Yes. There is something wrong."

"You can tell me about it, if you want." Stan replied, tentatively. He was absolute shit at the comforting-boyfriend thing, but he was going to take his best stab at it and hope for the best.

"I have a hypothetical question." Kenny said unexpectedly. "Say you had a hypothetical friend, and you discovered he was bulimic. What would you do?"

"How hypothetical is this hypothetical question?" Stan asked after a second.

"Not very." Kenny sighed.

"Who?" He asked simply.

"I can't tell anyone. He made me promise."

Stan didn't like how tormented Kenny's voice was. He hated it when Kenny was hurt. There weren't many limits to the things Stan would do to keep him safe.

"Dude, you can tell me." He coaxed. He heard Kenny sigh.

"I really can't." Kenny mumbled. Stan bit his lip. He knew that voices. This was Kenny's 'Not Changing My Mind' voice. He finally shrugged in acquiescence.

"Can you come over?" He asked.

"Sure." Kenny sounded like he might have a had a bit of a smile on his face. Stan didn't know. But he hoped.

* * *

**a/n**

FILLER

*bangs head against wall* i hate myself, and you should to :(


	5. Look and See

It is only because i have finally given up that i give you this chapter. it is crappy. i hate it. if i could, i'd omit it entirely. but essential plot points remain, and you people deserve to know what's going on, and dropping you right into the middle of a narrative without any explanation only works in mind-screw stories. which this one will hopefully not be. we'll see how the plot bunnies strike.

and with that, i bid thee adieu

enjoy!

**a/n**

_

* * *

_

**Chapter Five: If You Only Knew How To Look, Then You Would See**

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..

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_**No / it's much better to face these kinds of things / with a sense of poise and rationality**_

**_-Panic! At the Disco, 'I Write Sins Not Tragedies'_**

**_._**

The lunch room rang with the normal chatter. Wendy watched, detached, as Bebe flinched and squirmed under the assault of the noise. She had no pity. The silly girl should have thought of the hangover before the party yesterday.

"I'm worried about Tweek." Bebe volunteered, apropos of nothing, scrubbing her red-rimmed, sleep-deprived eyes.

Wendy frowned, worrying her lip between her teeth. She knew Tweek, barely. Everyone knew Tweek, barely. Bebe was the only one of them to ever talk to him outside of class.

"What about Tweek?" Kenny asked, petting Stan's hair away from his sleeping face. His voice was slightly off and Wendy glanced at her sharply. Kenny was looking down at Stan with a troubled expression on his face. Wendy frowned and decided to ignore her.

"His dad is getting home in a few days. Tweek won't admit it, but he's pretty much desperate to be gone for however long as he can. I gather the two of them don't get along very well." Bebe shrugged and picked idly at her sandwich.

"So what can we do?" Wendy asked, glancing across the cafeteria. Tweek was sitting unobtrusively in a corner, untouched tray of food at his feet. As far as she knew Bebe was the only one in their group that knew jack shit about him.

"Well, I was wondering if anyone could hook him up with a long-term place to stay." She took a bite out of her sandwich.

"I can't." Wendy smiled crookedly. "He's a guy. No way my parents will let him stay over for even a night."

"He won't want to come to my place." Kenny smirked. "And Stan can't take him 'cause he's grounded."

"I can't take him either, but maybe…" Bebe frowned. "It would depend on how Tweek feels about gay people."

"Who?" Wendy asked, interested.

"What about Craig? We all know his parents won't care." Bebe offered.

"That _could_ work." Kenny offered dubiously. Stan snored.

"Call him over." Wendy commanded. Bebe nodded and turned.

"Yo! Craig!" She shouted into the general chaos of the lunchroom. After a few seconds the boy in question materialized from the crowd and sauntered over, chullo hat at a jaunty angle.

"What." He asked flatly. Mary rolled her eyes.

"You're too nice to us, Craig. Be more of an asshole." Kenny laughed.

"Whatever." Craig deadpanned, settling to the floor and flipping Kenny off. "What do you all want?" He asked. When no one answered right away he pulled a cookie out of some hidden crevice and began to munch.

"Where did that cookie come from?" Stan asked, looking at it with a morbid sort of fascination.

"My pants." Craig answered with a completely straight face. Stan gagged. "Anyway, what do you all want?"

"Well." Wendy hedged after ascertaining Bebe was too big of a coward to say it herself. "Do you know Tweek? Quiet, blonde hair, small, easily lost in a crowd?"

Craig snorted crumbs everywhere.

"Are you trying to set me up again?" He asked in an incredulous monotone, arching an eyebrow. Kenny flinched. An arched eyebrow was about as emotional as Craig got, and even that much was scary. "After the Bradley fiasco? When he turned out to not even play for my team? I told you before, I'm perfectly capable of getting my own boyfriend, thank you _very_ much." He put his cookie in his mouth so he could flip Mary off with both hands.

"No, no, you know I wouldn't do that. Besides, the Bradley fiasco was mostly Bebe's fault." Wendy answered hastily. Everyone ignored Bebe's indignant cry. It _had_ been her fault, mostly.

"Oh. Good." Craig deflated somewhat and returned to eating his cookie. "What about Tweek? I've seen him around some. Kinda cute. Now that you mention it… is he gay?"

"That's no-," Wendy started to say. Bebe cut her off.

"Sort of on your team. So far in the closet he might as well be locked in, though." She informed Craig. He nodded.

"Pity. He has a fine ass going to waste there." Kenny let out a surprised snort of laughter, which jolted Stan off of him and onto the floor. He woke with a cry and a flail of limbs.

"Hey!" He jumped to his feet, hair sticking everywhere, one cheek smudged with dirt from the filthy floor.

"Sit down before you break something!" Kenny commanded. Stan sat obediently and pulled him into his lap.

"What happened while I was out?" He inquired, trying to simultaneously scrub the dirt off, get his hair to lie flat, and hold onto a squirming Kenny.

"I was just getting to that." Wendy told him, shooting a dirty look at Bebe and Craig. They looked up guiltily from their heated debate about whether or not Tweek was a closet gay.

"Tweek needs a place to stay." She said, deciding the direct route was best.

"_Why_?" Craig asked flatly.

"Good question." Wendy tilted her head at Bebe, eyebrows raised.

"He has… family problems of an unmentionable type," Bebe supplied, "and he needs someplace to stay long-term."

"Anyway." Wendy jumped back into the conversation. "Us girls can't take him cause he's a guy no matter how gay, Kenny can't take him, and Stan is grounded until-," she paused, and turned to Stan with a questioning frown.

"The Day of Judgment." Stan said meditatively. "It was worth it, though."

"I thought so too." Kenny looked up with an obscene grin. Stan gave an answering grin, then bent and licked his cheek with lightning speed.

"That's disgusting. And also disturbingly hot." Bebe groaned. Kenny made a dirty hand gesture in her direction and tugged Stan closer.

"Mine, bitch." He mock-growled. Bebe stuck out her tongue.

"I can't help it if you two practically do each other in front of me." She snapped.

"Yeah, you two need to get a room." Wendy sighed.

* * *

Craig ignored the argument that broke out, considering the situation. There seemed to be no downsides. He got both the warm, fuzzy feeling of helping out his fellow man, and he got basically a captive audience pretty much indefinitely. Win-win.

"Well, about Tweek. I'd have to meet him, but as long as he doesn't try to steal my stereo or something, I wouldn't mind giving him a place to stay for a while." He decided. Bebe snorted.

"Do you honestly think he could even lift the thing? He's like, a twig! With string muscles!" She gestured to accentuate her point, nearly poking Wendy in the eye.

"Well then, call him over." Wendy let out a long-suffering sigh, pushing Bebe's flying appendages out of her personal space.

"Great! Hey, Tweek!" Bebe jumped up and waved wildly towards the small figure. He glanced up, smiled hesitantly, and walked over. Craig looked him up and down.

He was cute, at least as far as the kicked puppy look went. He moved with the lack of awkwardness typical of the lucky boys who hadn't yet hit a growth spurt that gifted them with extra sets of elbows.

Wendy glanced from him to Craig with a speculative expression. Craig gave her a _look_ and she scowled. His 'stop before I decide to hurt you' glare was good.

"Hey, we might have found you a place to stay." Bebe told Tweek, pulling him down to sit beside her.

"I told you before, I don't need one. I'm perfectly fine at my place." He sighed. Craig glanced from his stubborn expression to Bebe's pursed lips and narrowed eyes. This didn't bode well.

Surprisingly, it was Bebe that spoke first.

"What about your dad?" She asked quietly.

Tweek flinched, though he tried to hide it. Craig perked up inwardly, wondering what she was referring to.

"I'll be fine. There's nothing to worry about." He told him, but he sounded less certain.

"Dude." Craig waved to get his attention. Suspicious brown eyes turned warily to his under a fringe of crazy blond hair. "If you want to stay at my place for a while, you can. My 'rentals won't have a problem."

Tweek snorted at the mention of 'rentals', but seemed to be truly considering the prospect for the first time.

"I don't even really know you…" he said hesitantly. Craig waved that away.

"We'll go over to your house after last period and get your stuff. But don't be late or I'll leave your ass."

Tweek blinked and went a little pale.

"Don't worry." Wendy stage-whispered to Tweek, leaning in. "This is how Craig does stuff. His way happens to be asshole, but you take what you can get." Tweek let out a sharp bark of laughter.

Craig flipped them off absently.

* * *

**a/n**

:P seriously, you guys don't even understand how much i hate this chapter


	6. Subtle Differences

I actually like this chapter, so you get it supah early! Happy Thanksgiving, people who celebrate it ;D

enjoy!

**a/n**

* * *

**Chapter Six: The Subtle Difference Between Boredom and Being Alone**

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..

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**_And when the broken-hearted people / living in the world agree / There will be an answer / let it be / For though they may be parted / there is still a chance that they will see / there will be an answer / let it be_**

**_-The Beatles, 'Let It Be'_**

_._

Craig leaned against his locker, eying the people rushing past with indifference. They all avoided his glance, whether scared of his possible anger or unwilling to look at the fag he didn't know. Or care. Their opinions mattered about as much as a cockroach's.

He spotted Tweek's hair bobbing through the people. He carried a giant backpack, stuffed full of... were those his textbooks? Did he need those? Either way, his skinny back looked like it was about to snap in half under the weight.

"Yo. Tweek." Craig called, beckoning Tweek over. People looked up curiously, but he pointedly ignored them.

The blonde looked up, blowing a spiky chunk of hair out of his eye, and spotted him. He grinned shyly and walked over, weaving through the streams of people. When he was close enough Craig pulled Tweek's backpack off, handing Tweek his own, lighter one and shouldering the load. Yes, definitely textbooks. Why on earth?

"Ready to go?" he asked apathetically.

"Yep." Tweek smiled shyly, peeking under his shaggy bangs. Craig made a mental note to make him get it cut. The long, spiky bangs in Tweeks face were obviously bothering him.

* * *

The drive to Tweeks house was for the most part quiet, apart from the radio and occasional directions from Tweek. As an uncommon show of courtesy Craig had turned the station to the most popular pop station, though the constant bubblegum lyrics put his teeth on edge.

He had been surprised when Tweeks hand had crept up to the dial and quickly turned it to the classic rock station before jerking it away as if he were scared of retribution. Craig shrugged, though inwardly he wore a tiny smile. The time with Tweek wouldn't be completely horrific if they shared some of the same taste in music.

They pulled up to a bland-looking beige house in a bland-looking neighborhood of bland-looking beige houses. Craig admitted he liked it boring, but this was taking it too far. If it weren't for the different numbers on the doors and the subtly different lawn decorations, this place would have been the Uncanny Valley Road Of Cloned Beige Houses.

"Um... You can come in if you want." Tweek offered awkwardly. Craig silently killed the engine and stepped out, gesturing imperiously for Tweek to get the door open. With a veiled sarcastic look that made Craig pause, he did so.

Did Tweek actually had a spine hidden somewhere in the folds of all his doormat-like pussy-hood?

Awesome.

The door apparently took over a minute to open. Tweek seemed to be having trouble with finding the right key on a ring with all of two keys on it.

Sighing impatiently, Craig took the ring of keys from him and opened the door on the first try. Tweek, flushing a brilliant cherry-red, snatched the keys back and stormed into the house, albeit as much as someone his weight could storm.

Craig snorted loudly and stepped inside, not bothering to wipe his feet or close the door. Tweek watched that without comment before turning and making his way up the stairs. Craig had a quick poke around the downstairs rooms. There really wasn't all that much there. The house was as bland inside as out. He wondered idly where Tweeks nervous tendencies came from, since it was obvious that this place was as calm and boring as it was possible to get.

He met Tweek coming down the stairs with a small suitcase. Craig looked from it to him incredulously. The bag didn't even look to be all the way full.

"I don't have much stuff." Tweek said shortly by way of explanation. After a second of blank staring that made Tweek shift uncomfortably and regret everything he had just said, Craig shrugged and turned back down the stairs, trudging out the door. Tweek stayed tucked safely behind him.

* * *

The drive to Craigs house was even quieter than the one to Tweeks. The soft strains of some male singers voice crooned through the silence, something about Mother Mary and people with broken hearts. Craig thought about turning off the radio and making some inane attempt at conversation, but when he glanced over at Tweek he was nodding along with the song with his eyes closed.

Craig turned back to the road, his tiny internal smile getting ever-so-slightly bigger. Tweek knew how to be quiet. This was starting to look like a pretty sweet deal.

They pulled into Craig's driveway with the last notes of the song still playing on the radio. Craig turned it off before some stupid commercial could take over and ruin it. Tweek stretched, the first unconscious, thoughtless movement Craig had seen him make, and looked around.

When he caught sight of Craigs blank gaze, he flinched and went scarlet. Craig shrugged, almost-not-really regretting ruining his calm.

"We're here." He said, sounding bored.

Tweek mumbled something under his breath that Craig purposefully didn't catch,because having to punch Tweek in the face for some stupid insult would completely destroy any peace for the both of them, and got out of the car.

Craig pulled Tweek's suitcase out of the backseat and hefted it over his shoulder. It weighed even less than he had anticipated. Turning to open the door, he found Tweek staring up at the house with the oddest expression on his face.

"...You going to move?" He asked. To his surprise Tweek didn't even flush, just shook himself out of the trance and gave him a long-suffering look.

"Yeah." He muttered, glancing back at the front of the house. Craig wondered what exactly had fascinated Tweek so damn much. Granted the midnight blue the house was painted was a trillion times more interesting than the dull beige that Tweek lived with, but it wasn't _that_ interesting.

He decided that Tweek was insane and that was all there was to it. It wasn't all that odd, considering the town they lived in. He seemed harmless at least.

When they got inside Craig caught Tweek eying the place with a muted version of the same odd look. Not even bothering to comment this time, he just turned and started trudging up the stairs. His parents wouldn't be home, or he would have seen them by now. They liked to pop their heads around a convenient door to ask about his day and flip him off.

That about summed up their involvement in his life, he thought, without bitterness. A question and a middle finger.

"Um... where am I sleeping?" Tweek asked unsteadily. Craig pointed wordlessly to the door at the end of the hall, the one with the Red Racer posters and the 'Trespassers Will be Shot' sign. His room. His house wasn't big enough for an extra bedroom. One for Ruby, one for his parents, and one for him.

"Your room?" Tweek asked, voice squeaking a little bit ridiculously.

"Yeah. Why? Got a problem?" Craig let a little bit of a threat leak into his tone. He thought it wasn't necessary, but he wasn't sure. And uncertainties could be painful. If Tweek was in any way homophobic, then that needed to be dealt with _now_.

Tweek's expression of exaggerated horror at the thought made him think that it probably wouldn't be a problem, however.

"I... What? No! Of course- I'm just a little..." His hands were twisting the hem of his shirt nervously. Craig snorted, genuinely amused. The kid had a lot of entertainment value. Like, almost as much as Red Racer.

"Chill out." he ordered, nudging the door open with a shoulder. Tweek seemed to take the order to heart, forcibly lowering his hands and closing his eyes for a moment.

The inside of his room resembled him, in an odd way. The blue walls, the poster plastered everywhere. Red Racer, mostly, lending completely unexpected flashes of color to his room. Craig ignored everything as only a resident of the room could and threw everything he was carrying on the ground.

"You want a sleeping bag or a cot? We got both." he offered monotonously. Tweek's hands started clenching again, his eyes widening. Craig wondered, resigned, what insane thing he would spout this time.

"You might not want me in here." Tweek said, fidgeting. Craig nodded to himself.

"Why not?" Craig asked, looking down at him. Tweek looked away.

"I get really bad nightmares, and I kinda scream a lot." He replied, blushing. Craig raised a mocking eyebrow. At least it was a valid concern.

"No problem. If you start to scream I'll just kick you awake." Craig shrugged. Tweek looked like he hoped Craig was kidding.

* * *

**a/n**

a chapter or two more of filler with occasional plot, and then...

well, you'll see


	7. Darker Thoughts Aside

YAY FILLER TIEMS :D i actually like this, so here, have some delish Craig/Tweek interactions, guest starring Wendy, Kenny, Stan, and Bebe.

IN THIS CHAPTER: Nightmares, Craig doesn't recognize sexual tension, and Tweek probably eats lunch

enjoy!

**a/n**

* * *

.

**Chapter Seven: Put Aside the Darker Thoughts and Walk Among Us Children of the Sun**

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..

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**_Read between the lines / what's fucked up and everything's alright / check my vital signs / and no I'm still alive and I walk alone / I walk alone / I walk alone_**

**_-Green Day. 'Boulevard of Broken Dreams'_**

.

Craig was woken sometimes in the early morning by a sound he couldn't identify.

For the longest moment he was disoriented, trying to figure out why his familiar room felt so alien. Sleep clung to the corners of his eyes and the edges of his mind, slowing him down.

And then Tweek whimpered again.

Craig jumped, peering around the room. Tweek, a sketchy lump on the cot across the room, writhed under the blankets. His sheets were twisted tentacle-like around his arms and legs.

Craig groaned and got up, staggering across the room. Tweek tensed at his approach, suddenly ominously still. Craig barely noticed, more interested in stopping himself from punching Tweek for interrupting his rest.

"Tweek, wake up." He sighed, poking him with a toe.

Tweek screamed.

Terrified, Craig jumped on him, covering his mouth with a hand. The scream had been terrible, a gut-deep shriek of absolute misery and horror. It felt to Craig like it was still reverberating in his bones.

Tweek jerked awake, struggling violently. He twisted out of Craig's grasp and onto the floor, and then shot upright. His sleepy mind caught up with his body and he collapsed back to the ground.

"Whoa." Craig panted, staring at Tweek. Tweek groaned and stirred. Craig scrambled over and helped him sit up.

"Are your nightmares all that bad?" He asked, the shriek still echoing in his head. His eyes were wide, he realized, his shock and momentary fear still etched on his face. The expression was foreign and he wiped it off quickly. He was vaguely thankful that Tweek hadn't noticed. The mere presence of emotion on his face would terrify the boy.

"Nah. Was really bad tonight." Tweek mumbled fuzzily. He sounded more than half asleep.

"Better go back to bed." Craig urged the bewildered, sleepy Tweek back to his pile of blankets. He blinked and looked around, hair sticking everywhere. In fact, he bore more than a passing resemblance to a confused child.

"Hmmmm…" Tweek hummed as the warm blankets settled back over him. Within minutes he had fallen back asleep, breathing deep and even.

Craig shook himself. He was going to hear that scream in his nightmares, no doubt about it. If his parents weren't such heavy sleepers they would have been in here to.

_Yeah right, as if they would give a rats ass. _

Craig shook his head to get rid of the voice. It was just telling him things he already knew.

* * *

"Hey." Craig looked up as Wendy meandered into his room. Tweek was curled up into a tight ball on his cot, watching Craig and his violin in fascination.

"Yo." He replied, saluting her with his bow.

"Hey." Tweek waved lazily.

"Don't stop." Wendy motioned for him to continue, settling on his bed. He smiled when she made sure not to snag and move any of his carefully arranged music. She knew him too well.

Craig slowly set the bow back to the strings, drawing a singing note from them. Tweek sighed, a brilliant smiled on his face. Wendy settled back, relaxing with a little sigh. Craig wondered idly as his hands ran through the well-practiced motions why she hadn't come last night if she was so worried about Tweek and him.

When the piece drifted to a close she sighed again and shook herself.

"Why are you here?" Craig asked bluntly, stowing the violin back in its case.

"Nothing." Wendy sighed, fidgeting with her hat. He almost laughed, because it was painfully obvious that _nothing _was most certainly _not_ nothing.

"Really." He said neutrally instead. Wendy glanced at him sharply. He returned a bland ind unimpressed look. Tweek looked back and forth between them like a spectator at a tennis match, expression awed.

"You know I hate it when you do that." She complained, struggling down off the bed. She didn't even attempt to keep her foot from knocking his music around. In fact, Craig could have sworn she kicked at the sheets of paper vindictively

"Do what?" He asked, cocking his head. He was struggling to keep the corner of his mouth from twitching under Wendy's wrathful scrutiny.

"That 'I'm so bored, look at me be bored and sit around on my ass all day, nothing will ever bother me' thing." She growled, throwing a pillow at him. He caught it as it flew past his shoulder and sat on it.

"I'm bored." He sighed, faux-dramatic, trying and failing to assume an expression even more bored than his default one. Wendy swatted him with a sheaf of rolled-up music scores.

"Ow!" He cried, grabbing Tweek from where he was convulsing on the floor with laughter and used him as a shield. Wendy feinted around, trying to get past Tweek to strike a substantial blow on Craig.

"Tweek, get out of the way!" She cried when she found herself unable to get to Craig without causing Tweek grievous bodily harm.

"I can't!" He gasped, sounding panicked. He was struggling, wiggling like an eel, trying his damndest to escape. Craig pinched his arm to remind him who's house he slept in.

"Beg, then!" Wendy commanded, sounding exasperated.

In answer Tweek twisted once more in Craig's grasp. He was only semi-successful, ending up in very interesting position, trapped between Craig's knees with his cheek on Craig's chest. He looked up through his crazy hair at Craig.

"Please let me go?" He murmured, voice soft and intimate. He looked…

Fey. Pure in a way that was almost sinfully angelic.

His body was soft against Craig's, soft and warm and pliant. His eyes were wide and full and pleading, tugging at all of Craig's protective instincts. Craig found himself caught by the way Tweek's eyelashes curved against his cheek when he blinked.

Tweek squirmed out of Craig's loosened hold. Wendy whacked him on the head with the rolled-up papers.

"Ow! Shit, what was that?" He yelped. The pain had snapped him out of whatever trance Tweek had managed to induce. Probably for the best. He had the feeling he had been wearing a stupid, open-mouthed expression.

* * *

"Where are you going?" Craig demanded as Tweek crept toward the door that led to the picnic area outside. Tweek pulled up short with a squeak and looked around wildly. Craig wondered what – who – had made him this scared. Although his phrasing could have something to do with it. He tended to sound threatening sometimes without meaning to.

Probably a side effect of all the times he had sounded that way on purpose.

"Um." Tweek's expression of terror didn't change much when he saw who was talking to him. "Outside? To, um, eat?"

Craig almost quirked an eyebrow at the hesitancy, before gesturing imperiously to where he, Wendy, and the rest were sitting.

"You eat here." he stated, and yeah, maybe he did sound like a dick, but that was ok. He sounded like that all the time. It wasn't like frightened little Tweek was going to call him on it.

"Ok." Tweek said in a small voice. He didn't sound too displeased.

Kenny jumped off of Stan's lap and attached himself to Tweek's side as soon as he sat down. Wendy and Bebe embroiled him in their argument, laughing at his stuttering replies. Craig settled himself majestically next to him.

He felt content towards the whole world at the moment.

* * *

**a/n**

who agrees that Craig is an emotionally stunted moron who wouldn't recognize sexual attraction if it rolled up in a red ferrari and smacked him with a wet fish? because. it's true.

IN THE NEXT CHAPTER: moar sexual tension, horror movie horror, and if i feel like it cuddles will occur.

a few chapters after that... things go... downhill.

:D


	8. One of Us

hey, you remember the end of last chapter? when i told you what was coming next? yeah, i lied. writing Craig and Tweek is too much fun, and i feel a little bad about what's coming. also, i was going into Stenny withdrawals and needed a fix. so i wrote a cute little filler piece and put it at the end.

IN THIS CHAPTER: Tweek doesn't throw up, Craig goes stupidly fast, Tweek maybe has friends, Token is a bigot, Tweek stands up for himself, and Stenny

enjoy!

**a/n**

* * *

**Chapter Eight: Because Now You Are One of Us**

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..

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**_But I'm not crazy / I'm just a little unwell / I know right now you can't tell / but stay a while and maybe then you'll see / a different side of me…_**

**_-Matchbox Twenty, 'Unwell'_**

_._

Tweek stared at the toilet. If it had eyes, he thought it might have stared back. But he wasn't quite that insane yet, so he put the image of cold, staring porcelain eyes far from his mind.

His stomach was full, the feeling tight, uncomfortable, unfamiliar. Usually that meant a quick trip to the bathroom, but now… he just didn't feel his normal urge. He couldn't feel the disgusting fat growing on his pretty, fragile bones like he usually did. He felt... he felt like a human being. It was _weird. _

"Hey! Tweek! Get finished, I wanna get to the diner on time!" Craig's voice sounded through the door, startlingly loud.

Tweek turned away from the toilet, appeasing himself with the promise that he would do it later. After he got home. Later. Just… not now.

He opened the door.

And without any kind of warning Craig snagged his arm, tugging him down the stairs at a speed normal, rational humans didn't use. Taking the stairs three at a time was sheer insanity. But he was used to insanity from Craig. The boy was a mass of idiosyncrasies and contradictions, wrapped in a mask of boredom that might or might not have been a mask.

Tweek had resigned himself to a swift and excruciating death by face full of splintery floorboard when Craig stopped suddenly at the bottom. Tweek, carried by momentum and windmilling frantically, slammed into his back.

Craig felt warm.

Tweek let himself stay wrapped around Craig for a few seconds longer than strictly necessary, feigning shock, reveling guiltily in the stolen warmth and closeness. He really shouldn't be this… needy. He wasn't sure what made him crave Craig's contact so badly, but it had to stop before he was caught.

"What was that for?" He asked, bewildered, when he pulled away. Craig shrugged, eyebrows raised in the expression that Tweek had privately dubbed his 'Mad Hatter Face'. He looked dashingly deranged when he wore it. Tweek sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Let's go. Wendy will kill us if we hold up any longer." He said, voice heavy with resignation. It seemed that Craig's mind would always and forever be a rabbit warren of weirdness, a complete and baffling mystery to him.

Craig nodded and tugged him out the door.

* * *

The diner was loud and crowded, and Wendy did send them a glare when they sat came in ten minutes late. Craig flipped her off serenely, however, and Tweek gave her an adorably nervous look, and everything was fine.

Kenny was sprawled all over Stan, lazily stealing food from every plate on the table. He carefully didn't notice, and everyone carefully didn't point out, how everyone had ordered extra and left it in his reach. Bebe drew piano keys on her arm and music notes on her palms. Craig hummed them to Tweek and Wendy and they laughed at how Bebe was writing the tune of Bad Romance so elegantly.

When no one was looking Tweek cupped his hands over his chest. There was a warm little glow in there, a happy one, vibrant shades of yellow, red, and purple. Every time he looked at these people, these people who were no longer strangers, who he was hoping he could label friends, it flared brighter.

He caught Craig watching him out of the corner of his eye, a strange cast to his non-expression. Maybe Craig knows what to call this glow. Craig's pretty good with words, especially when it comes to simplifying, or insults. Craig's good at the insults. Really good.

Maybe he won't ask Craig.

Maybe he'll just let this grow and see what happens. Maybe he can let himself hope. Maybe he can trust these people.

* * *

"-fucking faggots." Token wasn't paying much attention to his partner. That one kid, Tweek. He still felt a little guilty about shoving him into a puddle, but the kid didn't seem to remember it so neither would he. He hated guilt. "I wish they would just stop, ya know, being that way? And that Craig-,"

In retrospect, his lack of attention might have been why he didn't notice the sudden fierce focus Tweek was sending his way.

"Don't." The word, quiet but harsh, definitely harsher than he thought Tweek was capable of, stopped Token dead.

"What?" He blinked stupidly, surprised by the sudden outburst from a boy he had considered up till now to be nothing more than a meek doormat.

"Don't talk about Craig like that. He's a better person than Clyde." Tweek looked up and his expression was resolute. Scared, but resolute.

Token considered and had to reluctantly admit that Craig probably was, aside from the fact that he was unflinchingly, unstoppably gay, a better person than Clyde. Then again, that wasn't saying much. There were probably people in jail better than Clyde.

Smarter, too.

"Why do you hate gay people, anyway? What have they ever done to you?" Tweek tilted his head curiously.

"I… It's just wrong." Token fumbled. The sudden question had thrown him, and he was uneasy with the questioning of one of his core certainties. He was even more uneasy that he couldn't pull his reasoning to mind like he usually could. There was just something about the kids eyes, how painfully open and honest they were, that made bullshitting an answer unthinkable.

"Really? What's so wrong about it?" The kid looked slightly terrified to be arguing with Token, but he seemed determined to continue on the subject. Token could respect that. But he didn't have to like it.

"I don't know. It's just disgusting." Token clenched his fist uncomfortably. Thinking about people being gay made him nauseous. It was a simple as that. No real reason necessary.

"Just because you dislike it doesn't make it wrong. I hate broccoli, but I have to eat it constantly." The kid shrugged. He made it seem so simple to dismiss. Token banged his head onto the desk and growled his frustration.

"Whatever. Just do your notes." He grumbled. He could _feel_ the kid smiling triumphantly. But he hadn't won. Not by a long shot. Token would refute him. As soon as he could find the proof he needed.

* * *

Kenny wondered vaguely if he could ever be normal. He didn't think so.

He stared up at the stained glass window, the cigarette in his hand sending lovely smoke curling up toward the vaulted ceiling. The choir practiced below in the church proper. He sat in his usual place, hidden behind the altar. The priest let him stay there. Something about being inspired by the good Lord.

Kenny didn't think God cared about a fuck-up like him. He wasn't even bad enough to deserve being called a fuck-up, really. He was just a sad, lost little boy.

Kenny snorted and let his head fall back against the altar cloth. He was letting Wendy get to him again. Damn, he needed to get out more. The girl was cool, but she had a messiah complex the size of Cartman, and charisma and persuasiveness to go with it. She thought he was a little lost lamb, in need of saving, just like the priest. At least she didn't quote bible verses at him.

Sometimes her beliefs just got to him.

"Kenny."

Kenny started up, looking around. Stan sat on the edge of the altar, smiling easily. Kenny grinned back, a knot he hadn't noticed loosening in his chest. Stan did that to him. He never thought Kenny needed to be saved. He didn't want Kenny to change. He saw Kenny just like he was, rough edges and all, and still wanted him. That was one of the reasons Kenny loved him.

"Hey." He patted the ground beside him invitingly. Settling next to him, Stan pulled him under his arm.

Someday, he thought, he would work up the courage to tell Stan that he loved him. As it was, things were too perfect to disturb.

* * *

**a/n**

tweeky, you are too cute. fluff, fluff, fluff :)

it's all going to end badly. maybe.

NEXT CHAPTER: see last chapter XD


	9. Rise to Grace

the last chapter of semi-filler! yay!

enjoy!

**a/n**

* * *

**Chapter Nine: Such A Steep Rise to Grace**

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..

.

**_I was only looking for a shortcut home / but it's complicated / so complicated / somewhere in this city is a road I know / where we could make it / or maybe there's no making it now_**

**_-Lifehouse, 'It Is What It Is'_**

_._

"Make me a _sammich_, woman!" Craig bellowed, stomping with Bebe into the spotless kitchen. Tweek glanced up from the toaster.

"Funny." Tweek said, gaze more sarcastic than angry. "Why am I the girl?"

Bebe gaped, wide and obvious, at how easily Tweek was talking and joking with Craig.

"Really? You have to ask." Craig asked, mocking disbelief in his voice. Tweek rolled his eyes and made a vague non-committal noise. Craig lifted an eyebrow that Tweek ignored, turning back to watching his toast brown.

Craig's eyes widened with disbelief and he looked back at Bebe with the most vivid bewildered expression she had ever seen on him. She realized he honestly had no clue what to do with Tweek's brazen disrespect and lack of fear. She didn't think he'd had an honest-to-god challenge to his authority in... in a long-ass time.

It was actually a little adorable.

Until she caught the flash of exasperation and prideful anger in Craig's eyes. That was when she remembered that he hated being challenged almost as much as he hated being ignored.

He glanced at her again, a dangerous quirk settling on the corner of his mouth.

She shook her head frantically at him, trying desperately to indicate what a very, _very_ bad idea whatever going through his head was. He, typically, ignored her. She blew out a frustrated breath. She didn't know why she tried, she really didn't.

Craig could be scarily sneaky when he wanted to be.

He drifted silently up behind Tweek, hands lifting to frame his shoulders. Eyes widening, Bebe lurched forward. Craig _probably_ wasn't angry enough to do something life-threatening, but she didn't think that now was the time to test that probability.

She was too late to stop him.

He grabbed Tweek by the shoulders and sunk his teeth into the crook of his neck.

Tweek's back arched and he sucked in a deep breath, letting out a keening whine of combined pain and surprise. His hands flew up, gripping Craig's hair and slipping thin, cold fingers over his cheek. His whine was quickly working it's way up to a shriek of fear.

Craig made a muffled noise of surprise and let go. Whirling, eyes wide with astonishment, Tweek looked up at him. His hand flew to his shoulder, touching the bite mark gingerly.

Craig was staring at him openly. Tweek's gaze caught in Craig's and stayed there, dusky red spreading over his cheeks. Everything was still.

The toaster popped.

Everyone flinched. Tweek turned to rescue his toast and Craig picked up a bottle of flat orange soda, taking a long pull. Bebe blinked and tried to clear the feeling that the room had suddenly started spinning from her brain. She had no idea where the feeling had come from. It wasn't like she had taken anything lately.

"So, did you guys get to the movie store?" Tweek asked. His voice was shaky, striving desperately to be normal.

"Yeah, all the good stuff was taken though. We got some old horror flicks." Craig shrugged, waving the bottle around.

"Fabulous. I just _love_ horror films." Tweek rolled his eyes and went to wipe up the soda Craig had spilled.

"They scare you?" Bebe glanced apprehensively at the small stack of movies on the counter.

Tweek continued silently wiping the counter, face heating up even more.

"They do. Look, he's blushing." Craig snorted, reaching over the counter so he could poke Tweek's cheek.

"Jesus Christ, man! What are you, seven?" Tweek snapped, flinching away from Craig's hand. Craig shrugged, the corner of his mouth quirking, and scooped up the movie at the top of the pile.

"We're watching this one." he called back to them, heading into the movie room.

* * *

"Aww, isn't he cute!" Bebe wrapped his arms around Tweek and squeezed until Tweek's protesting struggles started getting erratic with asphyxiation.

"Let me go, you freak!" Tweek jabbed an elbow into Bebe's stomach and scrambled to Craig's other side, hiding and shivering pitifully.

"Craig, make the scary person stop hurting me." He whimpered.

"Bebe, I swear to god, if you attack Tweek one more time…" Craig trailed off threateningly. Bebe pouted. In the background a creepy doll began strangling a little boy with its strings.

"Why is it always only me that gets in trouble?" She asked, sulking.

"Because you usually cause trouble." Craig answered bluntly.

"Whatever, I gotta go now." Bebe shrugged ruefully. "Remember Craig, no surprise sex without filming it for me." Shaking a threatening finger in his direction, she went to fetch her bag. Craig flipped her off with both hands.

A groan made Craig look around. Tweek, the little coward, had his fingers stuffed in his ears, eyes shielded by a pillow. He looked highly molestable, but Craig decided that copying Bebe was less than advisable.

He paused the movie and yanked one of Tweek's hands out of his ears. Tweek looked at the screen, blanched at the creepy frozen image, and looked at Craig.

"When Bebe leaves I'll get some other stuff out, kay? I got some other movies, if Wendy hasn't stolen them." Craig offered.

Tweek raised his eyebrows.

"Can we?" His incredulous words were masked by Bebe's loud complaining as she searched for her jacket. Craig slapped a hand over Tweek's mouth just as Bebe came in with her bag slung over her shoulder.

"I hope that's what I think it is." She said, very suggestive grin lighting up her face like a jack-o-lantern. Craig gave Tweek a warning look and dropped him.

"Anyway, see you Monday. Try not to get yourself raped, Tweek." She waved cheerfully.

"No! Don't leave me here with him!" Tweek threw himself halfway over the back of the couch, reaching imploringly for Bebe. Craig yelped and dragged him back as the furniture began to tip.

"See ya!" Bebe waved and disappeared. A second later the door slammed, signaling her departure. Tweek settled back, looking disgruntled.

"Why'd ya grab me?" He demanded. Craig sighed.

"You want Bebe to think you watched those movies, right?" Craig shrugged like the answer was self-evident. "So we watch some other movie and say you saw the gore and horror and laughed at it like a real man."

Tweek gave him a poisonous glare.

"Whatever." He huffed, grabbing his pillow and hugging it.

Craig fished under the couch, coming up triumphantly with a battered case. Tweek could barely make out the title through the battered plastic. Some old blockbuster.

"Just watch it. I promise you'll like it." Craig put it in and restarted the TV, then went and sat down next to Tweek. The opening credits rolled, and they were transfixed by the colorful opening.

* * *

**a/n**

and this, my friends, is where things get... interesting.

NEXT CHAPTER: bleeding, spooning, angsting. also kisses


	10. Just Us Two

Merry Christmas :D here, have some Creek. see you sometime next month, when finals have finished destroying my life! (possibly sooner. i'm very vulnerable to flattery ;D )

PS: it might be worth mentioning that the last few chapters are spaced over a few weeks of in-story time :P i fail at indicating pacing

enjoy!

**a/n**

* * *

**Chapter Ten: All Alone When It's Just Us Two**

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..

.

**_Cause you can't jump the track / we're like cars on a cable / and life's like an hourglass glued to the table / no one can find the rewind button boys / so cradle your head in your hands / and breathe / just breathe… _**

**_-Anna Nalick, '2 AM'_**

_._

_tinktinktinktinktinktinktink_

It was raining.

It was raining and the tink-tink on the windows was driving him insane. He had been biting his lip viciously for hours, sitting as quietly as he could on his cot, pretending to read a book. Craig had left half an hour ago, something about groceries. He felt like his bones would shatter under the rigid, tense control he maintained.

He hated the rain for reminding him how long ago the last time he had forced out all his impurities had been. He didn't want to be alone right now, he wanted to be distracted. He didn't want to think. Thinking led back, where he wasn't totally sure, but somewhere cold and empty and aching.

_tinktinktinktinktinktinktink_

Involuntarily his fingers curled around the pages, stiffening into claws. He straightened them, flexing hard. He felt too tight in his own skin, pinched and too big.

And the damn _water_. He could almost feel it, running down his face and between his shoulder blades like little lines of ice. It tickled and burned and _reminded._

He broke with a whimper. He could feel it, like snakes of slick fat and wrapping around his bones.

He barely made it across the hall, stumbling to the toilet. Bile splashed into the basin, hot and acidic and sour and so, so welcome. But he had waited too long, days too long, and it was all coming with a vengeance, it was coming _up _with a vengeance. It still wasn't enough, his own failure was still swimming in his veins. He could feel it, a layer of oily grime just under his skin, just beyond where soap and water could reach. He shivered away from it, tried to remove himself from the sensation that it was crawling under his skin. Self disgust alone almost made him sick a second time.

_Have to get it out_.

That was his one – last – coherent thought.

_Get it out, get it off, make it stop it's disgusting I'm disgusting it hurts make it stop make it stop someone please make it STOP _

Violently he scratched at his skin, pulling off his shirt, trying to tear it away so he could get _out_ the crawling, disgusting, filthy mess. It hurt but that meant nothing, it was welcome, a distraction from the horrible dirty crawling _feeling_.

Blood beaded on his ribs.

Tweek paused for a moment, staring in fascination. He had never intentionally spilt his own blood before.

The trickling redness ran in curving lines over his skin. Completely absorbed by this new sight, Tweek watched it's swift progress.

Small drops of it fell to the floor, splattering on the cool tile. Tweek watched the tiny puddles for a while, and then returned to watching the run of blood. When it finally slowed to a crawl Tweek drew a finger through it, painting a long line to the waistband of his pants.

He touched his finger to his tongue, allowing the subtle flavor to drift through his senses, part metallic scent, part indescribable taste. It was… No words came to him. He was still thinking in primary colors, vivid red, skin-white, pupil-black.

With his still-bloody finger he drew an absentminded circle on the mirror.

"Tweek! What's taking so long?"

Tweek jumped a foot in the air. When he landed cruel reality ran through him like a cold wind.

"Just a minute." His words came out strangled with horror and disgust as he saw, really saw, what he had done to himself. Two long scratches still seeped blood, and numerous small cuts had opened on his arms. Blood stained his skin, dribbled on the floor and counter, and that _grotesque _circle on the mirror…

"You okay?" Craig sounded concerned, which meant that Tweek's tone had been _really_ off if his voice showed that much emotion.

He grabbed a piece of toilet paper and began furiously cleaning blood from where it had fallen and splattered on the tiles.

"Yeah, I just need a minute." Tweek worked to make his voice sound normal.

"Well, hurry up. I need to take a shower." Craig whacked the door once more for emphasis and walked away.

Tweek wet the toilet paper and wiped the blood away carefully off his skin. Most of the cuts were small, superficial, easily healed. The two long ones, though…

Trying desperately to steady his breathing, Tweek threw the toilet paper in the garbage can and reached under the sink for some band-aids.

* * *

He woke sometime in the early morning, way before the sun had risen, blankets pushed too far down and his arm wrapped around a pillow. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Except...

His pillow was fucking _breathing._

It was expanding and contracting rhythmically, a small, warm weight against his body. He lifted his head sleepily to see what it was. Alarm was already seeping through the daze.

Tweek.

Craig was spooning Tweek, arm thrown casually over him.

Tweek shifted unhappily, grumbling as Craig's breathing started to accelerate. Soft skin and bony spine shifted against Craig's chest.

Craig let his head drop back down and stared at the ceiling, carefully counting his breaths till he felt better.

He decided he had two options. He could wake Tweek up and demand to know exactly what the _hell_ he was doing in Craig's bed. This would doubtless provide him with much amusement as Tweek freaked out and pulled an insane-but-barely-plausible explanation out of his ass.

Or he could pull Tweek closer and enjoy holding a warm body.

_No contest, _Craig thought wryly, shifting so that his arm would stop falling asleep. Tweek smiled in his sleep and squirmed even closer.

Too close.

Craig froze, suddenly completely awake. Realization hit him over the head like a sledgehammer. This was a bad position. Really, _really_ bad.

Goddamn, he hated his hormones.

He had woken up with an inconvenient erection before, what teenage boy hadn't? He had rarely, however, woken with an inconvenient boner and a warm body tucked up against him. And it had never been someone he couldn't just sneak out on and ignore later.

And Tweek was _right there_. He'd wake up soon and freak out, yeah, but not over something safe like the comedic value of him somehow finding his way across that room and under Craig's covers. He'd freak out about the fact that the guy who was letting him stay with him was _very obviously_ turned on by how close they were.

Painfully so, actually.

It had been a very, very long time. Craig had forgotten.

And he couldn't really do anything about that... could he?

His body was screaming at him that this was what he wanted, he wanted it _right now_, Tweek wouldn't remember later as long as Craig was gentle and he didn't wake up. His morals, fairly shaky to start with, were crumbling.

He wanted to own this bundle of velvet skin and bird bones, wanted with a desire that quickly grew teeth and claws. The need was eating his insides. The figurative devil sat on his shoulder, whispering justifications, his angel noticeably absent.

Tweek yawned in his sleep, pink tongue slipping out unconsciously, and _oh god_.

He reached out a fingertip and brushed Tweek's lips. Soft, warm, desirable. And the feeling of lips on his skin fed his imagination, images of how it would feel to have those lips on other parts of him. Craig let out a sigh that worked it's way up to a moan, the last of his willpower splintering.

Softly, gently, as quiet as he could, Craig guided Tweek's mouth to his.

It was…

Perfection.

Soft and close, his lips even and full. Tweek tasted like toothpaste and butterscotch. Every point of contact was ice and sweet fire and sheet lightning in a summer storm. He took his time exploring Tweek's mouth, counting teeth and stroking satin tongue. Tweek moaned and Craig swallowed the noise.

Nothing could have made this better, nothing except Tweek being awake, doing this because he wanted to…

Abruptly Craig pulled back. Tweek whined his sleeping disapproval.

God, what was he _doing_? He was no better than a rapist, taking what he wanted with no regard to what Tweek would say. And it didn't matter that Tweek hadn't woken, that he would have no idea what had happened. Because even if he had, even if he had tried to fight – and this is what scared him – Craig wasn't sure he would have stopped.

He knew where that led.

Craig reached over to wake Tweek up. He wanted to absolve himself, but he had no idea what he should do. And if Tweek stayed where he was, he might have even more to apologize for.

Tweek frowned in his sleep, almost as if he knew what Craig was about to do and didn't like it at all. Craig stopped, hand hovering over Tweek's bare shoulder.

He rolled over, tucking himself firmly into Craig again.

Craig sighed and let his arm fall over Tweek, holding him. He needed sleep. His thoughts were running in circles and they all somehow spiraled back to Tweek.

Almost against his will Craig's eyes began to close, sleep descending like dark snowfall.

* * *

The first thing Tweek noticed when he woke slowly was that he was warm. He was never warm when he got up in the mornings. It was like any heat he stole from the sun during the day was leached away during the night.

The second thing he noticed was Craig's breathing. It was slow and rhythmic, almost enough to send him back to sleep.

The third thing he noticed was that the breathing was way too close.

He opened his eyes, still sticky with sleep, and found himself entangled in Craig.

Craig was spooning him; he was close enough that Tweek could feel his breathing against his back. One of his arms was thrown over Tweek, keeping him from shifting away, one of his legs hitched over him.

Something shifted in Tweek's chest. It was a little like nausea and a lot like pain. It was what warmth would taste like, what colors would smell like, what music would look like.

And it was utterly beyond Tweek's comprehension. This was a _good_ feeling, and in his experience those didn't last long and ended painfully. It was easy, even, to see how it would all fall apart.

All Craig had to do was wake up.

Tweek allowed himself a few seconds to quietly panic about how he had gotten into his present situation. Would this damage the place he had now? Would Craig hurt him if he found him here?

The how was easy. Tweek could remember the nightmare last night in vivid detail. It had been one of his silent ones, the one where he was trapped in his own body, unable to move of speak or even turn his eyes to look at things. He never made a sound while it happened to him.

He had a vague memory after that of snapping awake with tears on his face. There was a faint suggestion of his irrational, half-asleep self instinctively seeking comfort in Craig's warm blankets. And after that… nothing.

Deciding that panicking wasn't likely to get the problem fixed, Tweek began to slowly squirm his way out of Craig's hold. Stopping every time Craig let out an unhappy murmur, he slowly managed to extract his body.

The air outside Craig's embrace was so cold it felt hostile, unwelcoming. Tweek longed to go back in, but he knew if he was found there he would be unwelcome.

He crawled into the cold nest of blankets on his cot and shivered his way back to sleep. He was safe. And the part of him that was whimpering to get back into Craig's bed wasn't even that big.

* * *

**a/n**

first thing: i have woken up the same exact way as Craig, minus the inconvenient boner. i freaked out and might have also possibly fallen off the bed.

second thing: Craig is a sleep-cuddler. i swear to god.


	11. Breathe

Why am i doing this? because i'm stupid. i should be studying. instead... chapter.

have fun, you guys... next chapter gets... interesting. you remember the rape warning? yeah. it's not going to be the fun, 'he actually really wanted it' rape. this is going to be brutal. i actually hate myself for writing it...

just fyi ^.^

enjoy!

**a/n**

* * *

**Chapter Eleven: When There's Nothing Left to Breathe**

.

..

.

**_I guess / that this is where we've come to / if you don't want to / then you don't have to believe me / but I / won't be there when you go down / you're so alone now / you're on your own now / Believe me. _**

**_-Fort Minor, 'Believe Me' _**

.

Craig rolled over, humming contentedly at his warm covers. There was something in the back of his mind telling him something was wrong, but he didn't want to think what it was. It was rare for him to feel so warm and content and he was going to treasure it.

It took him a while to realize why he wasn't just slipping back under the soothing surface of his dreams.

Everything was so _quiet_...

He bolted upright and promptly fell back down, the blankets tangled tightly around his shoulders. Sitting back up with some difficulty, he listened. There was something wrong, something fundamentally different about his room, and he couldn't place it. There was something that shouldn't be there, or maybe something wasn't there that should.

Tweek.

He swung around, tangling further in his blankets, and squinted desperately at Tweek's cot. He couldn't hear him, his quiet, sleeping breathing and little mumbles. That was what he was missing.

The little bed was empty, the blankets smooth and tucked in.

Everything rushed back to him, smashing through him like a bucket of cold water, leaving him gasping for breath and clutching at the covers.

He had – and Tweek was...

Craig fought his way free from the blankets, trying frantically to escape from their constricting embrace. His first, terrible thought, that Tweek was _gone _gone, had left for good, was assuaged when he spotted Tweek's neat little piles of clothing shoved under the bed. Craig put a hand to his chest and for a momentary eternity simply breathed, trying to calm the panicked beat of his heart.

When the beats of his hearts were distinguishable and his ribs had stopped aching, he slid out of bed and straightened his clothes. He needed to go downstairs. Just to check that...

Just to check.

He slipped down the stairs quietly. There was a promising clattering in the kitchen, and the quiet drip-hiss of the coffee maker. But it could still be his mom, or his father, or Ruby. She was old enough to figure out the coffee maker, and wouldn't it be just like life for her to pick now?

He peered cautiously around the corner.

And sighed silently in relief when Tweek's unmistakable blond hair came into view. He was bent over a piece of toast, carefully spreading the butter to the exact edges of the bread. There was a hint of nerves in his movement, but that could have been the new brand of bread, or the coffee being slow, or anything at all.

Craig scuffed a foot against the floor intentionally and walked in. Tweek squeaked and whirled around, dropping the toast.

It landed butter-side down.

"Hey." Craig said. It came out odd, and it took him a second to figure out why.

Did he feel... awkward?

"Hi?" Tweek asked him, expression curious. Craig wondered if his tone sounded odd to Tweek as well.

"So... About last night." Craig said, the awkwardness acute in his ribcage. That should have warned him. He never felt awkward. He sailed through life with no expression and a middle finger. Awkwardness was for him to cause in other people.

It should have warned him.

Tweek smiled quizzically at him, expression real in all the wrong ways. And Craig went cold.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, and he sounded serious, he sounded like he honestly didn't remember. Craig gaped at him, actually _gaped_, expression out in the open and dragging at disused facial muscles in ways he couldn't understand.

His chest hurt.

It literally hurt, an ache deep inside. And it was hard for him to breathe. Bands of... _something_ wrapped around his ribs, tightening inexorably, making drawing breath impossible. His muscles ached to curl into themselves and hide until everything went away.

This was all so terribly familiar...

"Nothing." he said and his voice came out wrong. _Too_ bland, empty of the sarcasm he always hid there. Lifeless.

He turned and walked out, knowing that Tweek was staring at him with panicked eyes. He could feel them burning into his back as he climbed the stairs, but he told himself he didn't care and forced it to be true.

He shut the door of his room carefully behind him. With measured steps he paced to his bedside table. His hand closed around his phone. The number flew off his fingers with speed that was the only break from his calm facade.

* * *

"Wendy?" Craig's voice was even more empty than usual, cold and lifeless.

"Craig? What's wrong?" She asked, jumping to her feet.

"I need to talk to you. Can you get to my house?" He replied.

"Sure. Why?" She questioned, bewildered.

Craig said something like 'tell you when you get here' and hung up.

Without another thought Wendy sprinted for her car. She had never, ever heard Craig sound like that before.

* * *

Wendy poked her head into the kitchen. Tweek sat on the counter, sipping a mug of coffee with a frown.

"Where's Craig?" she asked. He glanced up and shrugged.

"In his room I think. He's acting pretty weird." His expression flickered for a moment. "I have no clue why. Did he call you?"

"Yeah, he sounded pretty weird on the phone. I'll go talk to him." Wendy sighed. Tweek shrugged unhappily, sipping moodily at his coffee. She eyed the half-empty pot dubiously, but left him alone. If he wanted to sulk his way into caffeinated insanity, that was his prerogative.

The door to Craigs room was closed, which wasn't that odd. What was odd was that the instant Wendy stepped onto the landing the door swung open, revealing a pale and blank faced Craig.

"Craig?" she asked. He made a furtive motion with his hand, gesturing her inside.

She shuffled in, sitting on the edge of the bed. Shutting the door carefully, Craig turned and walked to the center of the room. He stared at her for a long time without saying anything.

"What-," she asked when five minutes of mutual staring had ensued. Craig cut her off.

* * *

"I think… I think I might like Tweek." Craig told her. That was a lie. Like was too weak a word. However, he wasn't going to think too hard about his revelation. And he especially wasn't going to say it out loud.

Somehow, when he wasn't looking, he had fallen in love with Tweek.

Wendy stared at him.

Craig bit his lip, almost sobbing with frustration. He _needed_ someone to talk to about this.

About Tweek.

Tweek, who was uncertain, and odd, and probably more than slightly insane. Who could really _see_ music, who spouted insanity at the oddest times, who was scared of horror films. Who was gorgeous and perfect and-

Fuck, he had lost it.

He had promised himself he would never let himself have control. He knew what happened when someone gave someone else complete control. Love was power and power corrupted. It was horrible, and painful, and he had _promised_ himself, damnit, that he would _never_ do that to someone.

"Oh. Why is that a problem?" Wendy asked. She sounded so blasé. _She didn't know_, he reminded himself. _I never told her. She's never had to know. _

"This can't happen. Not to him." Craig forced out past teeth clenched against sour bile. Wendy watched in bewilderment as he rocketed to his feet and raced for the door.

Craig reached it and threw it open, dashing for the stair. He had to reach the door and get outside, now. He needed to… He froze.

Tweek was standing at the top of the stairs. He stared at the plainly distraught Craig.

"Are you… um… okay?" He hazarded after a second. Craig opened his mouth and what came out was a sob.

Unable to answer Tweek's question without a total breakdown, Craig pushed past him and careened down the stairs. Wendy called after him, but he ignored her. As he fumbled with the doorknob he heard Tweek ask Wendy a low question. She answered, and Craig hoped she had the sense to keep his confession to herself.

Blindly he pounded through the streets, away from his house and Tweek. He needed space, distance, time.

When his burning lungs and aching ribs finally forced his feet to a stop he was in front of his old elementary, a little under half a mile down the road from his house. Slowly he stumbled in the gates of the playground.

It was a metal and plastic graveyard, musty and devoid of life. A forlorn, discarded sock hung from one of the monkey bars. The light was turning gray with dusk, the sour kind of twilight that curdled out of the dying grasp of a burning August day.

He wandered to the swings and sat on them for a few minutes, and then got up restlessly and sat on the bottom of the biggest slide. He remembered when it had been twice his size and standing at the top made him feel like a giant. Now it was only a few inches taller than he was.

He lay back on the still-warm metal and let his thoughts drain away.

* * *

**a/n**

**next chapter: **really bad stuff

finals -.- hate. studying...


	12. The Silver Lining

Hey all! you remember that rape warning last chapter, yeah? I lied again :D next chapter! yay!

i really should stop doing the lying thing ._.

enjoy!

**a/n**

* * *

**Chapter Eleven: The First Time You Can't Find the Silver Line**

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**_Remember when we'd stay up late and we'd talk all night / in a dark room lit by the TV light / through all the hard times in my life / those nights kept me alive. _**

**_-Skillet, 'Those Nights'_**

_._

Wendy found Craig in the playground an hour later, as the streetlights slowly went on. He hadn't moved from the bottom of the slide.

"Craig…?" She asked hesitantly. He glanced at her, then away.

"Remember when we were little? This stuff was the coolest thing ever. Recess was the best part of the day." Craig stood up and twirled in a circle, arms encompassing the whole playground: the rusty swings, the old, faded metal slide, the new plastic structures that kids could never figure out how to play on.

"Craig, I just got through trying to explain what the hell you're doing to Tweek. You better have a damn good reason of this." Wendy snapped when Craig didn't say anything else.

"You want to hear a story, Wendy?" Craig stopped spinning with his back to her. He couldn't stand the sight of any person right now. Memories best left covered in their ghostly dust-cloths were stepping into the light, hands outstretched, demanding their acknowledgment.

"Craig, so help me-," Wendy began. Her tone, implying that Craig's words were somehow unimportant, made Craig whirl to face her.

"Listen." He commanded, making his tone so final she stopped with her mouth open unattractively.

"Ok." She said after a second, momentarily cowed. Craig walked over to the swings and climbed into one.

"The first time I kissed a guy… not my choice. Just this guy cornered me in the stairwell." He laughed. The sound was raw. "A day later we were going out. This was before I really knew you, Wendy."

"Is there a point-," Wendy began impatiently. Craig sent her a glare forged of pure poison and steel. She shut her mouth so fast her teeth clicked, her face going pale.

"It was… good, for a week or two at least. After a while, though, he told me he was going to show me something special. I was going to like it, he said. I trusted him. He made me give him a blowjob." Craig's voice cracked.

Wendy flinched. Craig noticed and snorted bitterly.

"It made me feel disgusting. But he, he told me I was special. I was in love. He owned me to the point I couldn't even breathe without him. I ended up on my knees for him again, and again, and again.

"And then he wanted me to go farther. He wanted me… totally. I wasn't sure, and I put him off for a long time. He finally got impatient and took me to a party. He got me wasted and told me he would leave me unless I let him fuck me. I let him."

"He raped you?" Wendy whispered, voice barely a thread of sound. Craig almost slapped her. The trite play of emotions across her face, so cliché and predictable, made him physically sick.

"Not quite. I did say yes, after all. But… it might as well have been. After that he didn't even ask permission, just pushed me down and used me." Craig paused and sneered at the sky. "If he was feeling particularly _romantic_ we even used a bed. But I never fought him. I loved him." Craig lifted his feet and pumped a few times, swinging slowly back and forth.

"How… How did it stop?" Wendy asked, almost silent.

"He moved away. It damn near killed me. Because I still loved him, despite everything he had done to me." Craig's voice was an emotionless monotone, belying his titanic struggle not to scream and break something.

"You have to know Tweek would never do that to you." Wendy said after a few minutes. Craig laughed again. As if. The chances of Tweek, weak Tweek, fragile Tweek, overpowering him were so infinitesimally small that they weren't even there.

"You're right. He won't."

Wendy opened her mouth, no doubt to applaud his change of heart.

"Because I'd be the one doing it to him." Craig finished. He was viciously glad when her face paled with realization.

"But-" Wendy started.

"You aren't changing my mind." Craig told her flatly. "Tell him he has to leave my house. Do it politely, use a boot, I don't care. I just want him gone."

Wendy stared at him for a second, gaze remote. Craig shifted uncomfortably under it, and then stilled himself. He wasn't going to bend on this.

"Fine. If you're certain this is what you want." She said finally. After another minute of her uncomfortable scrutiny she turned and left. Craig stayed on his swing, going back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

* * *

Wendy opened the door to Craig's house. Her footsteps shuffled leadenly over the carpet.

She didn't want to be here. She didn't want to do this to Tweek. The only thing that had stopped her from dragging Craig back here and making him explain was the fact that she knew that if he was let anywhere near Tweek in his present condition he would hurt Tweek a hundred times worse than he was going to anyway.

She was tempted to turn and leave when she reached the stairs. The idea of turning away and ignoring the both of them and this whole fiasco was seductive.

Resolutely she marched up the stairs, plowing through her reluctance. No matter how unpleasant, she was going to do the right thing by her friend. And then she was going to kill Craig, and then she was going to go home and eat enough ice cream to power a small Third World country.

She figured she deserved it.

She tapped on the door of the room Tweek had been – up till now – sharing with Craig, and pushed it open. Tweek was lying on his cot, reading a book. At the sound of the door opening he glanced up, then returned to his story.

"Hey. What's up?" He asked absently.

"Um." Wendy shifted uncomfortably. "It's Craig." She flinched as Tweek's face flashed to her, expression hopeful and worried.

"What about him? Is something wrong?" He demanded. Wendy wondered if Craig knew the way his name lit up Tweek's face. She wondered if _Tweek_ knew.

"He kinda… Well… Umm… He doesn't want you at his place anymore." The last words burst out of her against her will.

Tweek blinked at her for a second, the words not quite reaching him yet.

Then they did. She could see the exact second they slotted into place in his brain. He swayed for a second, several very complicated emotions rushing across his face faster than she could comprehend them.

She thought she could identify grief, and anger, and… disgust?

And then blankness slammed across his face like a shut door. _Damn you, Craig_, she thought. _What have you done to him?_

"I see." He said. The emotion absent from his eyes filled every syllable. "Thank you for telling me."

He stood up, the book hanging from his hand, and walked to the door. She followed him out of Craig's room, down the hall, down the stairs. He paused in the middle of the entry hall.

"Wendy?" Tweek's voice stopped her cold. It was shaking, fluctuating wildly, on the edge of shattering into pieces.

"Yeah?" She asked. Tweek didn't turn, didn't move except to wrap his arms tightly around himself. The book dropped to the floor with a muted thump.

"Can you get my stuff for me? I don't think… he'll want me in here any longer than… strictly necessary." He voice was steadying, though deadening might be a better word. The emotions in it were draining away. His emaciated frame shook slightly.

"Of course." She said softly. Tweek continued on and she resolved to make Craig absolutely miserable.

* * *

Tweek closed the door to his room. Standing in the middle of his room with his eyes closed, shutting out the sounds of the TV downstairs and the wind rushing through the tree branches outside, he began to imagine.

He was at Craig's still. He was in Craig's room, their room, with its eclectic walls and comforting colors. Craig would come in soon and pull Tweek along to do something insane. He had things that were his and there was no father, no cold voice and cold feelings and cold heat of heavy hands. He was safe.

He was pathetic. Holding himself tighter, digging his fingernails into himself, he ran through his memories of Craig. He would draw warmth from them one more time, and then he would never touch them again.

The times Craig had saved him from his nightmares. The times he had made Tweek eat, the way he would pinch his ribs and tell him he was to skinny in a way that was an insult and a comfort in one. The way he would touch him without thinking about it.

The time he had woken up wrapped in Craig.

Tweek shuddered, dropped any pretense of indifference and whimpered, curling around the pain beneath his breastbone. He had always thought that heartache was just a word for an emotion.

But he could feel it now.

Subtle agony coiled around his ribcage, over his collarbone, up his throat. It brushed his eyes and he realized he was crying.

_I wasn't good enough. I'm never good enough. No one wants me. _

He hadn't believed it when Wendy had told him. Not at first. He had remembered how easily he had been accepted by Craig and he had thought desperately that Wendy must have been wrong.

And when he realized the truth it had hurt a trillion times worse.

Stupidly, foolishly, against every urging of common sense and experience, he had started to hope he had a place. Maybe he had been cared for. Maybe he was finally wanted.

_Stupid, stupid boy._

* * *

She had climbed a set of beige steps, measuring her breathing. The boring, bland atmosphere of the house was oppressive, almost claustrophobic. She couldn't shake the feeling that the walls were eying her with hostility, enraged that she dared bring her colors on.

She shook her head and tried to dismiss the feeling. It was too... paranoid.

Careful to balance his stuff, Wendy knocked on the door to his room. She had never been here before. She wondered what it would look like.

Tweek took so long to answer she knocked a second time. After a minute or two footsteps moved to the door and the lock clicked open. After a second of hesitation the knob turned and Tweek opened the door.

"Here, I got your stuff. Your dad let me in." she said, maneuvering past him. She took a long look around his room.

The walls were unassuming cream. Nothing hung on them except a boring watercolor landscape on the far wall. His carpet was industrial beige. His bed was pastel blue, the headboard obviously secondhand. She turned to hand Tweek his stuff and found him staring at her.

Tweek looked her in the eyes and she almost flinched. His blankness had gotten worse, ripening into a soul-deep apathy that chilled her to the marrow just looking at it. How could one person hold that much emptiness and not simply collapse like a black hole?

He reached out and carefully took his things from her, breaking eye contact. Silently, not saying a word, he put them away. He didn't look at her, didn't acknowledge her presence.

When the last sock was in its drawer, he turned and looked in her general direction.

"I'll be fine. You should go tell the rest about this, though." He smiled and the red rims of his eyes explained more than an entire book.

* * *

**a/n**

Next up is the rape. it's not going to be pretty. :/


	13. A Turn For The Worse

first order of business: this chapter has drained my creativity for a while :/ not the funnest thing to write, and it's not even graphic. next chapter will be a bit short and might be a while in coming.

second: i wrote something more graphic, but i hated it. it was just too... eh. bad. there's a reason i don't write smut, much less rape. so sorry, people expecting it :P

enjoy!

**a/n**

* * *

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**Chapter Thirteen: When The Last Straw Is Broken**

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**_Shiver shiver on our roof / and see your face lit by starlight / hold you through the night / and watch that Colorado sunrise. _**

**_-3OH!3, 'Colorado Sunrise'_**

_._

Wendy waved goodbye reluctantly, obviously wanting to make sure he would be alright, but unsure of how to ask.

"See you at school." Tweek pulled himself together enough to say. Wendy left and Tweek closed the door behind her. It clicked with finality.

"You're home."

Tweek gulped down a sob. The voice hadn't changed at all, deep and husky and terrifying.

"Yeah." He said when he had control of his voice.

"That faggot throw you out? Huh. Did he get sick of fucking your ass?"

Tweek couldn't answer, mind-numbing terror warring with slow-burning rage at the verbal abuse of Craig. If he could have he would have killed his father for that but he just… couldn't.

"Well? Did he?" A heavy hand slammed into Tweek's chest, throwing him back against the door with a grunt of air forcefully expelled.

Tweek answered as he knew he was supposed to.

"…Yes…" he whispered.

"Louder." The word was punctuated by a backhand slap that threw him to the side. Tweek's hand flew to his stinging cheek. He had bitten his tongue, and he could taste blood.

"Yes…" Tweek said, louder. He was sick with fear, burning with rage, and crawling with the desire to close his eyes and cease to exist. Almost of their own accord his eyes drifted shut.

"Say it all. Tell me what exactly he did to you and how much you _loved_ it." Hot breath on his cheek, the hateful words drawn out against his skin.

He shook his head numbly.

Fingernails dug into his ribcage, heavy palms ramming him against the wall until his bones began to creak and pain forced sound from his throat. When his vision began to spark he was let go, allowed to slide down the wall for a second. But just a second.

A neat swipe of a foot and Tweek was on the floor, crying out as his skull connected with the hard wood. A hard boot nudged him and he scrambled to get away, fleeing mindlessly the pain that boot promised.

Too slow.

The kick connected with his stomach.

Tweek screamed in pain and silently hated himself. He was so weak, so worthlessly pathetic. He should be able to stop this, should at least take this without a sound.

He was dragged upright by his shirtfront. The hands bunched in the material burned, too hot even through the thin cloth.

"You must have misheard me." The words whispered in his ear were poison, dripping lava-hot into his bones, eating him from the inside out. "That wasn't a request. Tell me how much you loved getting fucked by that fag."

Tweek took a few bare seconds to breathe, to remove himself from what he was going to say.

"I loved it when Craig fucked me." His mouth formed the words, burning his throat and tongue on the way out. His father was breathing heavily somewhere in front of him. Tweek kept his eyes shut.

With a suddenness that forced a short cry from him his legs were swept out from under him again. A knee settled on his back, a hand tangled in his hair, tilting his head back.

"I've learned a thing or two while I was away." Hot breath behind his ear, the hand in his hair twisting cruelly. "I think you need to be disciplined. You've been learning bad behavior from that fag."

"Please…" Tweek whispered. He was breaking, he could feel himself breaking. The edges of his vision were sparking. Something in his chest writhed, trying to crawl up his throat and escape.

"Shut up." The hand not hold his hair grabbed his throat, tightening until Tweek was gasping for air. "You should be used to this by now, you spent enough time with the fag."

Tweek couldn't remember what it felt like to be warm. Every memory that might have saved him was taboo now. He could feel nothing but cruel hands and tortuous weight, see nothing but blurry floor, hear nothing but pitiless laughter.

He clenched his hands into fist, digging his fingernails into his palms until blood seeped. It was a reminder he was still alive, a reminder that time was passing. A reminder that he wasn't as dead as he felt.

* * *

He woke up a little later, if you could call it that. He was forming semi-coherent thoughts now, at least. Condescendingly his father had allowed him to get up to his room.

He was huddled on the floor beside his bed. He hadn't quite managed to stumble to the bed before shattering agony and bone-deep weariness had sent him to the ground. He was so weak.

The bad feelings, the clotted, reddish-brown of his tangled emotions, had settled to the bottom of his mind. They lay there like a malignant beast, dozing but not assuaged. A move, a thought, a single breath could wake them. A layer of cold, comfortless nothingness separated them from him, half-thoughts skittering apprehensively over its surface like pond-skimmers.

He was striking a delicate, dangerous, untenable balance. And it was going to fail eventually, he was going to fall off this knife edge and on either side was pain. A single thought out of place, one slipped emotion, and agony would tear him apart again.

The image made Tweek shift, the tiniest movement.

Incredible agony lanced through him, a pale echo of the agony that had torn him in half earlier, had shattered him and re-made him with crippling fire. He was different now, lesser, a shadow that had been ripped from its innocence. There was nothing left of himself he could identify, nothing familiar to cling to. He was a simple wasteland, everything important razed to the ground.

He keened, a shrill and animal sound he couldn't identify at first. The pain was more than enough to send the grief and anger and hatred roaring over him like a tidal wave of fetid water. Tears streamed down his face and he curled into a tighter ball.

The future settled over him like an iron yoke. He was going to sleep, and wake up, and the day after tomorrow get to the school somehow, do his work, avoid the people he once dared call his friends. And then he would come home and survive his father if he could. And then he would get up that next day and repeat, ad infinitum.

Craig. He would see Craig. A whole world of agony in that thought.

But for these scant hours he could forget all this. He could sleep. He was tired. So tired. So very, very exhausted.

He felt darkness on the edges of his thoughts. He welcomed it, letting it slip over him. The tears hadn't stopped, but he couldn't find anything in him to care. He just wanted oblivion.

* * *

The next day Tweek woke with salt streaks dried to his face and aches in his joints from the awkward position. For one blissful moment he was empty of thought and memory. Then he made to sit up, pain clawed through him again, and he had to lurch upright and stumble to the bathroom to throw up in the toilet.

A while later he returned to his room, clutching the wall for support. He felt empty, as if someone had scooped out his insides with a spoon. He touched his stomach and concluded that it would be impossible to tell, his stomach was so hollow.

After about an hour of staring at the wall he noticed that his clothes stank of sweat and… other things. He crawled over to the dresser, trying not to move too much. Pain still ran through his body like poison.

He eased off his clothes, examining the skin it revealed. Bruises decorated his skin, their colors ugly purple and blue. One whole handprint was outlined into the skin of his hip, the fingertips cuts where nails had broken skin. He brushed them accidentally with his hand and had to hold back dry-heaves.

When he pulled off his underwear, blood stained it. He hurled the material away from him, shaking. He wasn't sure why. He couldn't feel anything. He just felt… numb. Like he had been broken so badly his brain refused to comprehend it.

He reached into the drawers and pulled out a new set of clothes. Gingerly, attempting to brush his bruises as little as possible, he pulled his clothes on.

* * *

**a/n**

In the next chapter: emo loneliness, friend incomprehension, and poor, poor Tweek.


	14. Struggle to Stand

As predicted, late and short. but i have the next chapter sketched out, soooo, soon. and much better than this! cross my heart and hope to cry :D

enjoy!

**a/n**

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen: The Dream Might Be the Aftermath**

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_**And this is how you remind me / this is how you remind me of what I really am / this is how you remind me of what I really am…**_

_**-Nickleback, 'How You Remind Me'**_

.

Tweek skulked to class with his head down, the hood of a huge, tattered hoodie pulled over his face. No one noticed him, though he saw them; Kenny talking to Stan by his locker, Bebe stumbling by in her usual post-weekend daze, Wendy dashing past in a frantic tangle of dark hair and purple cloth. But no Craig, thankfully. Seeing Craig so early in the day would have killed Tweek, he knew. This way the pain came in small, manageable doses.

Almost absently Tweek discovered a new dimension to his suffering: the things he would miss. Lunch without Clyde and the unwilling Token harassing him. Break with people who liked him. Classes with someone who _wanted_ to be his partner.

A friend.

He missed that most of all. He missed Craig so much. He missed how easily Craig had accepted Tweek's eccentricities, how they could have a conversation without awkward silences.

The door to his first class seemed to weigh a ton as he struggled to push it open. Craig sat on the other side. He knew it with the inevitability of gravity.

Sure enough, Craig sat in the seat he had occupied before he had known Tweek, chatting with a boy Tweek didn't know. He looked… worn. Tired. Unhappy. But he was smiling, actually _smiling_, paying attention to this random stranger. A murderous stab of jealousy straightened Tweek enough that his hood slipped off.

Craig glanced over at that moment and his eyes landed directly on Tweek before he could look away. And, unmistakably, he flinched.

Tweek felt a sob working its way up his throat. Before a tear could fall and ruin everything, he turned and walked to his old seat at the back of the class. When he reached the battered desk he fell into it, setting his books down and burying his face in his arms, hood back over his head.

The sobs came then. Hard ones, all the worse because he couldn't make a sound. Bitter, painful tears stained his sweatshirt, throat aching with his unvoiced whimpers. Desperately he tried to keep his body from shaking. He didn't want anyone to see this. They might ask questions.

The class passed in a blur of tears and the uncontrollable urge to walk to Craig and _beg_ him for forgiveness from whatever sin he had committed. What held him back was not the undignified nature of the action, or the audience that would certainly mock him, but the knowledge that Craig was better off without him.

When the final bell rang for break Tweek didn't get up, aware his tear-stained face would probably generate a few questions. The people around him walked away, talking quietly. The teacher ignored the tiny gray figure in the back of the class. When he sensed he was alone he lifted his head, wiping his eyes.

He know he couldn't survive any more of this. He hoped he wouldn't and he would collapse and maybe someone would care enough to help him back up. But then he realized what an unrealistic dream that was and burned it from his mind with the memory of Craig flinching away from him.

He was stronger than he felt. He knew that. He would rely on himself for now. He would find all of his delusions and burn them. He would find all of his hopeless hopes and unfounded dreams and scrub them away. There was no other way to survive.

* * *

Through a gap in the crowds of students streaming from the building, Kenny spotted Craig. He was talking to a smaller figure, standing predatorily close above him. The smaller figure, his hood up and shielding his face, cringed away from him.

"He's over there." Kenny told Wendy, frowning. "Who's he talking to?"

"Oh _shit_." Wendy hissed desperately, dashing towards the pair and completely ignoring Kenny's question. She battled through the indifferent streams of people coming out of the building, running towards Craig and the still unknown boy.

As Kenny looked on Craig took a step back, head lifted disdainfully. The smaller boy turned away and Kenny caught a glimpse of his face.

Tweek.

He disappeared into the crowd. Craig looked after him for a moment, and then Wendy grabbed him, whirling him around. Her expression was fearsome.

She shook a finger in his face, mouth opening and closing in furious words too far away to hear. Craig sneered at her, expression the ugliest Kenny had ever seen on his face.

"Jesus, what's with Craig?" Stan asked.

"No idea." Kenny frowned and stood on tip-toe, trying to see through the crowd.

He was just in time to see Craig storming down the steps and into the parking lot. Wendy slid out of the crowd next to them.

"What's going on?" Kenny asked, trying to find Tweek in the crowd. He had disappeared while Kenny was watching Wendy and Craig.

"Tweek and Craig had… an argument. I'd leave them alone for a while." Wendy looked strained.

"Oh. Ok." Kenny shrugged helplessly, squeezing Stan's fingers for reassurance.

* * *

He had hoped.

He thought he had murdered these thoughts.

He thought he had drowned and burned and froze these baseless desires away.

Until he had seen Craig approaching, heard his name on Craigs' lips and his heart – _shattered, traitorous thing_ – had fluttered with sick, harsh hope.

Until he had seen Craigs' hateful expression and the rubble in his chest had caught fire in a rush of agonized heartbreak.

Until Craig had opened his mouth and the words had spilled out and the void had opened in him, gaping and aching in a way that whispered promises of a painful forever.

He hadn't wanted to hope.

* * *

**a/n**

NEXT CHAPTER: general angstery XD


	15. Can You Fix That?

bleh bleh sickery bleh. yes, i am not dead. but i do wish i was -.-

ugh i hate the fluuuuuu

enjoy!

**a/n**

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen: You're Not Quite Dead Yet**

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**_What if I fell to the floor / couldn't take this anymore / what would you do / do /do? _**

**_ -30 Seconds to Mars, 'The Kill'_**

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Tweek scratched mindlessly at the desk with his pen. The ink had dried away so long ago he wasn't sure he had even had it when it could still write.

All along the top of the desk his efforts showed. Two words over and over and over. The ones farthest to the left were weeks old, the first one from the third day since Craig. That was how he measured time now. Before, during, and after Craig.

_Sorry. Please. Sorry. Please. Sorry please sorry please sorry …_

The effort of scratching his pent up words into the desk kept them from bursting out of where he had hidden them, behind his ribcage, right next to his heart. He could feel them there. They had spiked ends and jagged sharp edges.

The teacher droned on at the front of the class. She had tried to talk to him when she had first seen the scratched words. He had watched her until her words had petered out. He was unsure what expression he had been wearing at the time, but it must have scared her because she had let him go with just a 'Maybe you should talk to the counselor' and an unsteady pat on the back.

He felt almost sorry for her. She was a nice lady. She shouldn't have to deal with him. He would have transferred out of her class, but he just…

He couldn't.

It hurt him, and he knew it made Craig unhappy, but he needed to see Craig. He simply needed to. The pain became unbearable if he didn't.

He still dreamed sweet dreams. They hurt worse than seeing Craig every day.

When the nightmares left him for a while, the world saw fit to show him how good he could have had it if he had just been good enough. He would be talking to Wendy, Stan, and Kenny. Or Bebe would be trying to get him to play a drinking game with her. Or… Craig.

When he woke up was the worst. When he looked over because Craig should be in the bed across the room, and then he realized that he wasn't. Wrong room. Wrong house. Wrong life.

* * *

After the first day, Craig made a point to himself of not looking at Tweek.

That didn't mean he never saw him, of course. Sometimes he caught a glimpse of a small gray figure going around a corner, or a crazy blond head of hair, but so what? And so what if occasionally he saw the little figure hunched into himself in a way that made Craig vaguely anxious. He was probably just asleep. Tweek could fend for himself just fine.

He ignored the small voice in the back of his head that reminded him that Tweek hadn't gotten on so well before Craig had met him. Things were different now. And even if he couldn't define to himself, or to Wendy, just _how_ they were different, they just were. They just _were_, damnit.

He sullenly ignored the looks that Bebe continued to give him, starting at concerned and shifting though the spectrum all the way to murderous. He put off Kenny and Stan with empty words of needing time and space, hinting at a fight that hadn't happened. He attempted to disregard Wendy.

That proved harder.

Because she wasn't doing anything. She wasn't looking at him at all, didn't acknowledge him in the halls and talked stiffly to him at lunch, if she bothered at all. His only consolation was that she didn't talk to Tweek either. That had to mean something. At least it meant that Tweek held _some_ of the blame, right?

Because it couldn't be his entire fault.

To his annoyance, his body did not agree. Sharp cramps of dread clenched his stomach every time he saw the little gray figure leave the building for lunch, out where Token and Clyde held court. Constantly he found his mind turning to Tweek, wondering what he would think of this, what he would say to that, how he would look if so-and-so was mentioned.

"I don't like him." he hissed to himself.

He was sitting on the swings in the playground again.

Somehow he had gravitated to this place when he had left the house for some time where no one could find him. He needed to untangle the mess Tweek had made out of him.

'_You hurt him worse than you can ever understand. Whatever he does to himself from here on out is your fault. Yours and no one else's.'_ Wendy had given him a cold look and turned away, ignoring the snarl Craig aimed at her back.

He didn't care about Tweek. He _didn't_.

Craig pumped restlessly until his toes kissed the horizon. The sun was setting. The days were getting shorter. Soon it would be winter.

He couldn't watch any of his cartoons anymore without reminders of Tweek. Practicing the violin held little appeal now that he could see him out of the corner of his eye every time he put bow to strings. He avoided the kitchen as much as humanely possible. In fact, he avoided his entire house whenever he could.

"Fuck." His entire life revolved around Tweek, even though he was gone.

* * *

**a/n**

i've been informed that i at some point called wendy mary.

...

oops


	16. Miss Me Kiss Me

I've been gone far too long v.v i apologize. life drama got in the way is all i can say. i don't even have the excuse of an extra long chapter.

but at least i'm still alive? :D

Enjoy!

**a/n**

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen: One Step Too Far Means I'm Out the Door**

.

..

.

**Don't waste your time on me / you're already / the voice inside my head / I miss you**

**_-blink-182, 'I Miss You'_**

_._

Tweek grabbed the bottle off the bedside table. A little over a third of it was full of pills, tiny pastel blue capsules. He wished there were more, but this was the only bottle he had found with the right affects. Hopefully he could find more before he ran out. If not… more pain, more waking up screaming in the middle of the night, more random debilitating panic attacks.

He was in one of his lucid moments now, when the pain was distant and abstract, but his mind was unclouded. Nothing hurt now, if you didn't count the ache in his chest. It always seemed to be there. He was aware of it all the time, even when the wonderful drugged stupor came, even when he was crawling to his bed because he couldn't walk. Even when he was asleep it manifested in his near-nightly nightmares.

He tilted the bottle and tapped one out. That was all he needed usually, though the dosage for his age was higher. He had so little body weight and never had enough in his stomach to counter the effects. One pill knocked him into La-La-Land for half a day, like clockwork.

He set it on his tongue and washed it down with the glass of water on his bedside table.

He giggled, the sound odd and ugly without any sense of amusement behind it, at the feeling of the pill move down his throat. He knew this wasn't good for him. There wasn't any doubt in his mind that he was addicted to the way he didn't have to feel when he was on these things. It was so easy not to hurt, as easy as a pill and a sip of water.

And he knew addiction. If he knew anything, he knew that. It was trading one need for another. A person for some pills. Craig for not feeling a thing. Without the one he needed the other.

He was a mess, a train-wreck. He was hopelessly addicted to someone who rightly hated him. He wasn't worth anything.

But maybe he could find some measure of balance.

* * *

"Uh… hey, kid." Token sat down by the kid. His head was down and Token sighed. It looked like he was doing the work again this week. It was only because this extra credit assignment was the the only thing that would salvage his failing grade that he had signed up for it. He hadn't signed up for an hour long session each week of boredom and tedious notes.

"Hey!" The kid's head popped up like a jack-in-a-box, manic grin splitting his face. Token yelped and slammed back in his seat.

The kid stared at him, that grin still plastered on his face. Token slowly leaned closer, wary that the bared teeth might take a snap at him.

The kid's eyes weren't actually looking at him. They stared off somewhere in the middle-distance, irises thin lines of gray struggling to contain his massively blown pupils.

"What did you _take_?" Token asked, waving a hand in front of the kid's face. The kid's eyes snapped to lock on his and his grin slid off his face, leaving it creepily blank and empty.

"Stuff." He said. His tone was slurred almost beyond recognition, something that hadn't processed with his hyperactive greeting.

"Um… lovely. Can you still work?" Token asked, discomfited. He hadn't signed up for this.

Well, he had, but still…

"Ummmm yep." He sighed. Despite his words the kid's head flopped laxly down onto his arms again. He started making a weird sighing noise, almost silent and unbelievably irritating.

"Great." Token sighed. Yup, looked like he was doing all the work again.

* * *

"Tweek?" Kenny laid a hand on his shoulder. Tweek lifted his head, blinking.

"Tweek what happened?" Stan exclaimed. Tweek's eyes were bloodshot, red-rimmed, pupils blown and glittering feverishly. An old bruise shadowed his sharp cheekbone.

"Go." He muttered. "Away."

Kenny blinked at him. His voice was almost impossible to understand, it was so slurred.

"What…?" He stared at Tweek.

He knew. He knew exactly what was wrong with Tweek. And he wondered exactly what had happened to drag him this far down.

"Tweek, why?" Kenny asked, anguished. Tweek gave them a grin better suited for something in a cage than this broken looking boy.

And he did look broken. His hair hung in limp, unwashed strands, his clothes ragged and grimy and far too baggy. Untied shoes, no socks, sleeves that looked crusty. His wrists, where they stuck like sticks out of his hoodie, were angles that looked obscene.

Tweek giggled manically, head lolling to the side.

"Hey, what's wrong? Are you sick or something?" Stan asked, discretely pulling Kenny out of range of Tweek. Kenny didn't struggle, though he knew there was no point to the gesture. What Tweek had done wasn't contagious. In this state, he wouldn't notice that little movement anyway.

Tweek continued to laugh, harder and harder, head falling back against the wall, exposing his throat. New bruises ringed there, awful purple-blue necklaces. He laughed until he was gasping, laughing until he choked. He finally sputtered to a stop, breathing irregular and harsh.

"Come on." Stan pulled Kenny away. He glanced back at the intersecting of two hallways.

Tweek was still sitting there. He was staring after them with an expression Kenny couldn't decipher on his face.

He shivered and let Stan pull him around the corner.

* * *

**a/n**

i can't promise a more regular schedule, lifedrama still intruding, but i can promise i won't be gone for so long again v.v


	17. It's Possible That's True

I am by no means medical. So yay for non-accuracy! :D also do not ask me what those pills are named. Because... it's secret. yeah. secret.

:D

enjoy!

**a/n**

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen: Could It Be You're Too Far Gone?**

.

..

.

**_In a car underwater with time to kill / thinking back I forgot to tell you this / I didn't care that you left and abandoned me / what hurts more is I would still die for you_**

**_-Armor For Sleep, 'Car UnderWater'_**

.

He shuddered. Kenny's face had been so clear; one of the only memories that he was sure weren't just hallucinations. He wasn't sure anymore, what was real and what was not, which of his feelings were true, unaltered, and which were filtered and recycled through the pills. But this memory had gloss and clarity he remembered from before-pill memories.

Which meant it was real. Kenny was disgusted by him. He honestly wasn't surprised. He never looked in mirrors anymore, but when he caught a glimpse of himself he wanted to vomit. The broken expression, the red eyes, the bruises and cuts and chapped lips. How desirable could that be? The answer was not at all.

There really was no point in staying here.

The insidious thought had crept into him over and over. Every time he thought he had burned it away, drowned it out, scrubbed it off the surface of his mind it came back, whispering to him in his weakest moments how much easier it would be for everyone if he were gone.

The problem was. The problem always was that it was true.

* * *

The problem was that it would be easier for him too.

* * *

The problem was that his thoughts were coming to slow and his feelings too fast.

* * *

The problem was that...

* * *

The pencil moved of its own accord, scrawling words that swam if he attempted to focus on them.

He had saved this letter for last because it had hurt too much to write. He'd tried to write it first and had only gotten through with the first line before he had broken down.

He wasn't sure of everything he'd written. That part was hazy. But he knew who it was supposed to go to. He scrabbled around for the last envelope. It took several tries to pick it up, and the letter kept missing the opening.

Slowly he licked the last envelope, sealing it. Writing the last name, a jolt of sadness swept through him. Panicking dully, he shakily unscrewed the bottle and grabbed another pill. He dry-swallowed it, hoping it would kick in soon.

The pill seemed to start working right away, numbness that was half physical sweeping neatly over him. He nodded; ignoring the dizziness the motion evoked, he went to set the envelopes on the table. They slipped through his numb fingers and scattered on the floor. His last one slid under the bed, name down.

Apathetically he wiggled his fingers a few times, losing interest when no feeling returned. He attempted to gather up the envelopes but they simply slid through his hands.

He left them there. They would be found.

An eighth of the bottle remained. Enough, hopefully. Tweek wondered if he was going to Hell or Limbo. Limbo would be nice. An eternity of floating in nothing. It sounded so sweet.

It was Hell for sure, then.

He awkwardly picked up the bottle, fumbling with hands that weren't working properly, and shook it merrily. The nice rattle sounded oddly faint in his ears. Working with as much precision as possible with fingers rapidly losing any semblance of functioning, he twisted the cap off the bottle and tipped all the pills into a pile in his palm.

He shoved them clumsily into his mouth, half of them missing his face and spilling down his front. Painfully he tried to swallow, the dry pills sticking in his parched throat.

Grabbing the glass of water on his table with both hands, he lifted it and gulped, slopping it around with a tongue suddenly thick and cottony.

His eyes were going dim, but he managed to get the glass back on the table. He lurched forward, trying to reach the bed. He thought he did before his sight went black. But it was so hard to tell with the thoughts in his head swirling away like water down a drain.

So much easier to sit back and let his mind peel away from his body, tentacles of though shucking away from his limbs and curling away into oblivion.

So much easier.

So much easier…

so… much…

easier…

* * *

He was flopped across the bed, eyes shut gently. At first he appeared to be asleep. But he didn't seem to be breathing.

Bebe didn't know exactly how, but she was by his side, reaching out to try and shake him awake, slap him awake, do something, _anything_, to stop his deathlike pallor.

And then a shallow wheeze escaped his lips and she cried out with relief. He was alive.

Her eyes caught light shining on white paper and she glanced down at the floor.

Envelopes, seven or so of them, splayed across the floor like a dropped hand of playing card. The one closest to her simply read _Kenny. _

She scrambled for her cell phone. The first three times she tried to dial her fingers kept missing the keys.

"911, what is your emergency?" A cool but friendly male voice sounded in her ear.

"My friend, he's barely breathing. I just came in and I don't know what's wrong." She was gasping for breath, she realized. Hyperventilating.

"Is there any sign of blood? Any cuts or obvious injuries?" The man's professional voice was soothing. The operator knew what to do.

"No. he's not bleeding." She took a deep breath and tried to slow her heart. She couldn't tell if it was still beating after it had taken that plunge through the floor.

"Is there a pill bottle nearby?" He asked. Bebe glanced around.

On second glance she could see small capsules scattered on the floor among the envelopes. An empty bottle winked at her from the floor next to the bedside table.

Bebe walked over and read the name on the label to the operator. He informed her calmly that paramedics were coming and not to attempt to help yet.

"There're some envelopes on the floor. Can I take them?" She asked. Her voice sounded odd, too smooth and cheerful. She suspected she was going into shock.

"Not a good idea. The police will want it to remain as undisturbed as possible." The operator told her kindly.

She turned slowly in place, reading all the names she could.

Wendy. Token. Stan. Bebe.

Bebe stared at hers with blurry eyes. Tears dripped onto her shirt and she absently wiped them off her cheeks.

A siren sounded outside her window.

"The paramedics are here." Bebe mumbled numbly into the phone.

"Good luck." The operator hung up. Bebe dropped the phone dully to the floor and went to open the door for them.

* * *

**a/n**

In the next chapter, everything will be spoiler'd if i give previews! :D so none for you :)


	18. Even If it's Nothing At All

Late, late, late, short, and shitty. i'm sorry... there's been a lot going on for me lately. my boyfriend of two years broke up with me, we had a scare with my shitty immune system that luckily turned out to be just shitty and not a disease... plus i stopped getting alerts for reviews/faves/stories/anything. i hadn't forgotten you guys! i promise! the show will go on!

To everyone who reviewed that i didn't reply to... I'm very sorry! i love you all!thank you! and i appreciate every one :) i won't be gone that long again, i promise XD (raise your hand if you've heard that before...)

enjoy!

**a/n**

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen: There's Something to Be Said For Regret**

.

..

.

**_We were meant to live for so much more / but we lost ourselves…_**

**_-Switchfoot, 'Meant to Live'_**

_._

The first time his phone vibrated against the shiny plastic of the slide, he didn't even notice. He had discovered that watching the clouds blow by helped to stop him thinking. Imagining the fantastical dragons and huge space whales smoothed over the jagged edges of his thoughts, made it easier to stuff them down, down and out of sight.

The second time he glanced at it, distracted from tracing out the tail of a gecko-shaped cloud. When he saw the ID picture he sat up sharply and, though suspicion made him hesitate, reached for it.

Wendy hadn't deigned to talk to him for over a week.

"What." He answered, voice flat and suspicious.

"Craig?" The voice that echoed out of his phone's shitty speakers was distorted and wavering and for a second he thought it was his service. Then he realized that the sound was coming through perfectly fine. The wavering had nothing at all to do with his phone.

He could _hear_ the tears in Wendy's voice.

"What's wrong?" Craig asked, shock putting more concern than he would have liked in his voice. He fought it down. Wendy was the one who had left _him_. She didn't _get_ any sympathy.

"It's…Tweek, he's…" Wendy gasped out a sob, choking and pathetic. Craig barely heard it. The mention of Tweek had been taboo since...

Craig crushed that thought ruthlessly.

"What about Tweek?" Craig asked flatly, masking the way anger warred with foreboding in his chest.

There was a fumbling noise and then Kenny's voice.

"Just get to the hospital." His tone was so flat it rivaled Craig's

The call disconnected with a beep. Craig pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it.

"..The hospital?" He said at last, to no one in particular.

* * *

He pulled up to the hospital doors too fast, parking haphazardly and ignoring the dirty look the handicapped person in the next space gave him. He was too busy stopping himself from flat out sprinting through the doors.

He hadn't managed to scrub Tweek out of him yet. But he'd be damned if he let anyone knew that he wasn't over the skinny, crazy blonde.

He pushed through the doors with controlled motions, not the wild desperation to know he could feel clawing in his bones. He was just congratulating himself on that when the full vista of that ER waiting room hit him.

Bebe was curled up against the far wall, head in her hands, shaking softly. Kenny and Stan clung to each other in a chair a few feet away, and Craig felt a momentary pang of envy for their closeness.

Wendy stood, looking at him. The box of Kleenex in her hands didn't seem to be doing her any good; her face was shining softly, wet with tears.

"What happened?" he asked quietly.

Dread was running fingers of cold sweat up his spin and churning in his stomach.

"Bebe… Bebe found him." Wendy had tears and snot running down her face and couldn't seem to get out a word without gasping. "He… Craig, he tried to commit suicide."

Craig thought he knew guilt. He had been wrong

These emotions were too strong to have syllables attached to them. They were not chemicals of the brain; they were forces of nature sluicing through channels not built to handle them.

"No." Craig choked out, throat clogged with dread and guilt. So much guilt. So much. He was drowning in it.

"Craig?" Wendy's voice sounded odd, echoing and far away. He could feel himself sway, almost falling. He didn't think he had the strength to get up if he did.

"My fault." He whispered. The words slashed into him, feeling like physical blades.

People outside of his mental world were talking, calling, trying futilely to get his attention. He ignored them, memories and odd thoughts falling into place with heavy thuds, shaking the foundation of his world until it was impossible to tell if he was still standing.

It was his fault.

"Oh god." He opened his eyes. He was kneeling on the floor, and if he stretched his memory he could remember the faint impact of knees on thin carpet. "My fault. I did this."

"Craig?" The painful call broke through his daze. It was anguished, as much a cry of help as attention.

He looked up.

Wendy knelt in front of him, clutching his shoulder. He envied her tears for one aching moment, that she could grieve without guilt. And then he was only one thought, one instinct. He would atone. He would fix this, fix Tweek. There was no possibility otherwise to him.

Until a thought laden with even more agony and guilt struck him.

"Is he... did he manage...?" For once he couldn't say the words lined up so awful in his mind. Wendy knew, though. She understood a fraction of what he felt. She understood what Tweek dying would do to Craig.

"We don't know." she whispered. "Bebe found him in pretty bad shape." Once again Craig cursed his dry eyes. They felt like a betrayal, his body trying to turn away his fault.

He was through with that, though. He would take the rightful blame. He would atone.

Starting now.

"Craig?" Wendy whispered as he lurched upright, crawling over to Bebe. She didn't notice him until he wrapped an arm around her, needing the comforting contact just as much as she.

When she noticed he was holding her she unfurled from her ball and buried her face in his shoulder.

Wendy pulled Stan and Kenny over and they huddled together, the four of them. Eyes from around the waiting room were trained on them, but they ignored it.

* * *

**a/n**

shittyyyyyyyy, i'm so sorry blah

oh well

LE NEXT CHAPTER: find out if Tweek lives! :D if you ask VERY nicely in a review, i might even let you know ;D


	19. How Far Do We Go?

GOOD NEWS EVERYONE! Quickly as promised this time! And aren't you so glad XD Did you like my cliffhanger? I loved it :D so many of you were worried for poor Tweek... But this will have a happy ending yet (SPOILERSPOILERSPOILER), even if Tweek still has hell to go through!

enjoy!

**a/n**

* * *

**Chapter Nineteen: The Impossibility of Turning a Clock All the Way Back**

_._

_.._

_._

**_Fall was always your favorite time of year / and / there's not that many trees to watch from here / the change is mostly inside / autumn's yours and mine / tonight.._**

**_-The Title, 'Six Stars Tonight'_**

.

The doctor that touched Wendy on the shoulder startled all of them.

"Are you the ones who came with Tweek Tweak?" he asked.

Bebe launched herself at the man and grabbed him by the front of his coat.

"Is he okay?" she begged desperately. "Tell me he's okay!"

The doctor stared at her for a second, eyes wide. Slowly she let go, stepping back and flushing bright red.

He coughed and readjusted his coat. He had flushed as well.

"You are friends of Tweek Tweak yes?" he asked again.

"We were almost too late. He was going into cardiac arrest when he got off the ambulance. We had to jumpstart his heart before we could flush his stomach. He's very weak but if he survives the night he'll be fine." The doctor shrugged, a tired twist to his smile.

"What… What'd he do?" Craig asked. Stan glanced aver at him and noticed how sick he looked. His cheeks were white and his gaze was imploring but glassy.

"Overdosed on some type of sedative. That. Combined with his severe malnutrition…" the doctor shrugged, exhaustion rendering his answers short.

"Can we go see him?" Bebe asked tremulously.

"He's sleeping right now, and will be for at least a few hours. You should go home, get some rest, and calm down. But when he wakes up reassurances of some sort would probably be a good idea." The doctor smiled tiredly, clapped Craig on the shoulder, and trotted back through the doors into the bowels of the hospital.

* * *

Craig walked away from the group in a daze. He though he saw Kenny looking after him but no one called him back so he kept going, pushing through the doors. The air seemed to be made of cotton, hard to see through and difficult to move.

Craig got into his car and turned the key in the ignition. The engine sputtered to life, hood gleaming in the dull light of the clotted clouds overhead.

He sat there for half an hour.

Feelings, memories, guilt and fear and remorse tangled around him like a net. If he could have, he might have cried, but he was trapped. Except for blinking and breathing, he couldn't move.

The sight of the ER door opening outward spurred him into motion. Now that he was out, away from them and the silent accusations that he heard from them or himself he couldn't tell.

His foot slammed down on the gas and he barely got it into reverse before he rammed his car through the ER wall. When he left the parking lot he might or might not have left strips of smoking rubber. He wouldn't have been surprised. His driving didn't settle into a normal speed for another ten minutes.

When he finally calmed, he realized he had no idea where he was going. His hands turned the wheel separate from his body. He watched the road with vague interest. The route was familiar...

When a row of beige houses came into view he shuddered, the car swerving slightly as he lost control of his hands for a split second. With a deep breath he forced his shaking to stop and returned the car to the right lane. He knew why he was here now.

* * *

The man who answered his knock was tall, hard looking. His face was handsome, in a way, angular and heavy. Craig instinctively hated him.

They sized each other up for a moment.

"I wanted to see Tweek's room." Craig said, breaking the tense silence. The man raised an eyebrow.

"Is he dead?" He asked, voice bland.

"No." Craig's voice shook. The possibility that Tweek might have died was sinking in all over again.

"Hn." The man turned away and walked back to the couch. "Go on up. Second door on the right."

Craig stepped inside, struck again by the suffocatingly bland atmosphere. He went up the stairs slowly. It was a struggle to do anything but trudge in this house. It forced it's stagnant, beige atmosphere under his skin and into his bones, aggravating with it's lethargy.

The room when he opened the door was almost horrifying in its repressiveness. It was the rest of the house, the rest of the _neighborhood_, distilled into one bland room.

The only interruption in the monotony was the chair at the desk knocked askew and the blankets draped all over the floor. He wondered what disorder had been created by Tweek and what by the police and medics.

A corner of white paper caught his attention. It was tucked under the small pile of blankets on the floor, obviously left behind by the hurried police search. Morbidly curious, he went over and tugged it out into the open.

It was an envelope. With his name on it.

He stared at it for a second, nausea rising in his throat.

Hastily he shoved it into his pocket and rearranged the blankets to look normal.

When he had finally made his way out the door and to his car, saying a curt farewell to Tweek's stepfather, he could feel the leaden weight of the letter in his pocket. He couldn't imagine what it could say. The part of him that screamed against the unfairness of the world and believed in fairness, the part of him that he ignored and denied and tried again and again to cut out hoped for forgiveness. Maybe even love.

The rest of him expected only condemnation.

When he tore open the almost blank envelope what spilled out was a single sheet of notebook paper, smudged and with holes where something had been erased too often or written too hard.

When he turned over the page it was heavy with crossed-out, misspelled words and spots where the pencil had trailed off the page. The handwriting was barely legible. The letter was almost pure gibberish. Craig traced the paper with a finger, where one of the words trailed off into a mad scribble.

There was only one line that was coherent.

_I'm sorry, Craig. _

Those words cut. They were written at the top of the page, in much clearer hand and sharper pencil than the later gibberish. No doubt they were the only thing that was a product of Tweek himself and not the drugs.

All he could feel were the words dancing across his tongue. The world was numb

_I'm sorry, Tweek._

* * *

The world was… numb. He was numb. He tried to twitch his fingers and he couldn't tell if they moved. He could feel some important memory floating just out of reach, a study in warm, blue darkness and comfort that was somehow nerves.

He wanted to go there. He wanted to go there, but he somehow knew that to have that blue again he would need to see...

He tried to open his eyes.

Brilliant light speared his corneas and flashed through his brain like a wildfire, alighting his memory and outlining a few in flames. He snapped his eyes closed as fast as possible.

He had failed.

_Damnit… I was so close… _

He had felt the deep blackness that was not sleep washing over him. He had felt something that, if he dared to label it, could be called peace. And then was no memory. It had been bliss.

He had _failed_. Sick anger and fear crawled up his throat and he turned his head to the side, spilling the poison out of him in a stream of thin, watery vomit.

He let the dizzy darkness fall over his mind again. He wished he wouldn't wake up.

* * *

**a/n**

Ah, sweet sweet angst... :D I am a terrible person everyone! but don't worry, it'll all end well ^^

NEXT CHAPTER: apology, more apology, and kisses. unless I lied. DUN DUN DUUUUUUUUUUUUUH XD


	20. And Put Me Back Together

aksljhskldjfhklsdjh this chapter DID NOT want to come out. At all. I spent HOURS staring at it DX and I still feel like it's shit...

AH WELL. Told you guys I'd update more regularly :)

enjoy!

**a/n**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty: Pick the Pieces Up Off the Floor**

.

_.._

_._

**_I've been beaten down / I've been kicked around / but she takes it all for me / and I lost my faith / in my darkest days / but she makes me want to believe / they call her love, love, love, love… _**

**_-Parachute, 'She is Love' _**

.

The envelope sat innocently on his desk. Token stared at it.

When the police had said Tweek had left something for him in the... attempt, he had expected... Really he had fuck all idea of what to expect. A letter worked as well as anything.

He had no idea what it might contain. Actually, he did have an idea. What else could it hold but blame? He hadn't done anything _good_ to the kid – Tweek – that would be worth writing a letter about.

Sighing, he decided that trying to stare down an inanimate object might not be the sanest thing to do.

He picked up the envelope and slit it open, barely noticing that he fingers were shaking. It took him three tries to open the envelope.

The note dropped into his lap and he picked it up. The first words were simple, of not expected.

_Dear Token_

Token had expected vitriol, hatred, at least some bitterness. And these emotions would not start a letter with a 'dear', would they? Not unless it was sarcastic.

He turned his attention back to the note.

_I don't blame you if you don't want to read this. I imagine not many people will understand my decision. Believe me, I had my reasons. _

_But you weren't one of them. I know you are blaming yourself. Don't. You had nothing to do with this. You're a good person. Mostly. You could do with more tolerance and less Clyde. Think about it. _

_Sincerely,_

_Tweek_

Token stared at the letter in shell-shocked silence for a long time.

* * *

The man with the faintly annoyed look on his face signing the forms in the corner looked up when Dr. Hawthorn called for 'Mr. Tweak'. He came forward with a charming smile. He smiled back in spite of himself.

"I'm Tweeks stepfather." He said, smile still faintly visible in the curve of his cheeks. "Call me Ryan."

"...Ryan." The doctor repeated, feeling slightly awkward. "I wanted to talk about the possibility of keeping Tweek in the hospital for a while." Dr. Hawthorn started. The doctor was glancing down at his clipboard, and so he missed the quick flash of surprise and irritation that crossed his face. "We need a parent or guardians permission, of course, but we want to be sure he's receiving psychological help for his problems, as well as help for his medical symptoms."

When he looked back up, Tweek's stepfather was expressionless.

"You want to keep Tweek in the psyche ward." he translated. Dr. Hawthorn looked away.

"He would be perfectly safe-," He started.

"No. I'm very sorry, but I think I'll be able take care of Tweek better." The man smiled again, even more charming. "He'll get more of the attention he needs that way, I think."

Dr. Hawthorn sighed. He hated to say this but...

"Child Services will look into the matter if you can't prove you're giving him the proper psychological help."

"I of course plan to hire a psychiatrist for him." the man replied smoothly.

The doctor paused.

"It all seems to be in order, then." he said reluctantly. He had the oddest feeling that he'd lost a game he didn't even know he had been playing.

* * *

Craig slipped into the room almost silently, barely daring to breathe. Tweek looked so much like a corpse, a skeletal, bruised, wan corpse. Only the shallow breathing broke his stillness.

Everyone had agreed that Craig was to go in first. Mary had pulled him aside after that and told him that if he dared hurt Tweek any more, the most terrible Hell she could find wouldn't be enough pain for him.

He had agreed that he deserved that, telling her in quiet simple words that she wouldn't have to find one for him. It was already here.

He had paused, opened his mouth to apologize to her but by then she had already turned away, helping Bebe up.

He scuffed his foot intentionally on the floor.

Tweek looked up. His expression was dead. And the way he sat, so limp and cold, arms arranged neatly by his sides and left there like he was nothing…

It almost killed Craig.

He settled gingerly into the chair by the bed, wondering how to bridge the gap of a few feet and a million years between them. Tweek kept his pebble-dull eyes on Craig, somehow looking him in the face without meeting his gaze.

"Tweek." Craig said, then stopped. What could he say?

Tweek didn't give him the chance to continue, anyway.

"I tried. They tell me I almost did it, too. A few minutes more, apparently." Tweek laughed. The sound was brittle and harsh. "Well. They can't keep me here forever. In a week, two, a month… I'll be gone." The words broke out of him in a rush of cracking syllables and rasping breathing.

"No."

The word was a breath. Simple vibrations couldn't communicate the sheer volume of shock and horror and fear Craig contained.

"No?" Tweek blinked dully. "But this was what you wanted. You wanted me gone. Out of your life. I'm doing what you told me to do. Why aren't you happy?" His voice rose a few notches. Stress and irritation and, yes, sadness and longing were vivid in the sound.

Lightning bolt. Guilt. Pain. Absolute certainty that this was _his _fault, his and no one else's. All striking Craig in the time it took to say those words. So simple, Tweek's way of thinking. So very simple and logical it even made sense.

Craig tried for several futile second to stop the bile rising in his throat, then gave up and simply ran. He didn't even reach the guys bathroom down the hall, settling for the trashcan on a cleaner's cart.

He retched into it for a solid minute, nothing much coming out of his empty stomach. The cleaner lady watched with a sympathetic expression.

"Off ya go. Nothing I ain't seen before." She motioned him away.

When he had emptied his stomach into the can and spat out the taste he stumbled back to Tweek's room.

Tweek was staring blankly at the wall across from him when he re-entered. Aside from the faint stirring of the fabric over his chest, he might have been dead.

"Tweek?" Craig collapsed back into the chair next to the bed.

Tweek blinked and turned his head against the pillow.

"Why are you still here?" He asked. The question is reproachful and confused.

"Because…" Craig shook himself out of his post-vomit haze. "Because I really need to apologize." The words, in a vague way, burned coming out. He hated apologizing for anything.

Tweek stared at him, dull bewilderment etched into his gaze.

"What?" He asked.

"I made the biggest mistake of my life." Craig glanced hopefully at Tweek. He was flying blind here, skating thin ice without any idea what would happen.

"…What was it?" The frown on Tweek's face had faded, leaving the fake smoothness Craig knew hid the feelings he didn't want anyone to see. Craig looked down at his hands, twisting in Tweek's sheets. The uncertainty there was so new to him, and he hated it.

This was going to be hard.

"I... panicked. I..."

Craig took another look at Tweek. Slow realization was dawning on his face. Craig drew a deep breath and kept going.

"When I realized I couldn't ignore.. you, anymore, I panicked. I just… didn't know what to do. So I threw you out, even though I _knew_ it wouldn't do any good.

"And I tried so hard to forget you. But I couldn't. And I hurt you. And I'm so, so sorry."

Craig waited for a response. After a minute of no movement, he ducked his head into his head, hiding his eyes. He wasn't sure how he was going to live with rejection. Though he had no doubt he deserved it.

Frigid, hesitant fingers brushed down his cheek and over his lips. Startled, his eyes flashed open. Tweek sat an arm's length away, outstretched hand falling back to his side.

"I'm sorry." He whispered again.

"You mean it." Tweek's face, pale with shock, was disbelieving.

"I never meant to hurt you." A lie, but only half of one.

Harmless.

* * *

**a/n**

NEXT CHAPTER: things get exponentially worse. or do they? -is a liar sometimes-


	21. The Beginning of Something

Sorry guys :/ meh meh meh. I'm a liar.

Short chapter grar

enjoy!

**a/n**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty One: This is What Happens After the End**

_._

_.._

_._

**_Deep inside of you / there's a ruby glow / and it gets brighter than you and I will ever know / there's a rushing sound / that surrounds us / when we walk alone / and it's everything I've ever known_**

**_-Owl City, 'I'll Meet You There'_**

_._

Wendy held the letter in steady hands. They couldn't be her hands. She couldn't feel them or the weight of the letter or the texture of the paper.

She watched them carefully open the letter and extract the single sheet of paper inside.

When she saw the heading everything rushed into her. The paper so raspy against her skin, so light, so innocent seeming of the words scribbled there. With suddenly shaking hands she smoothed the paper on her desk.

_Deer Wendy_, it began. She traced the misspelled word with a choking breath, knowing just what had caused this childlike handwriting.

The rest of the letter was just as innocent, speaking in heavily misspelled, erased, and crossed out words of forgiveness and the lack of blame, of how the world would be beautiful soon. She was crying quietly by the end, guarding the paper with a sleeve.

_Lov, Tweek._

* * *

They had sat for what was perhaps a minute and perhaps an eternity watching each others eyes. Tweek was so wary, starting quietly at Craigs every blink. His body was gathered into himself now, knees to his chest, but he had an arm outstretched between them, fingers overlaid with Craigs.

Craig broke the silence of the ticking clock.

"Can I come up?" he asked quietly.

Tweek had flinched at his voice but the tilt of his eyes when he looked back up could have been labeled hopeful.

"If you want." He scooted over with eyes downcast, maneuvering cautiously around the IV tubes and wires. Craig climbed carefully up next to him, settling in and hesitantly wrapping an arm around Tweek's emaciated shoulders. They were bowed, Tweek staring at his hands, nestled in his lap.

"You don't believe me." Craig sighed. He could sense the cold bewilderment emanating from Tweek still.

"How…" Tweek paused, silent for so long Craig started to wonder if he had fallen asleep. But then he stirred.

"How can I believe?" He looked up at Craig. His face was pleading. It was an honest question, Craig realized, not Tweek discounting his words.

"I don't know." Craig admitted. Honesty. The first step on the road to recovery. "but I'm going to find a way, I promise."

Tweek offered a weak but genuine smile and rested his head on Craigs shoulder.

Craig supposed that was all he could ask for.

* * *

Long experience with listening to Tweek sleep told Craig when he had fallen deeply enough that sounds and movements wouldn't wake him.

Carefully he shifted Tweek into his lap, making sure the IV tube wasn't disturbed. The feeling of the frail – skeletal – body against his was a constant reminder of what he had almost lost.

"I love you." Craig finally admitted to the sleeping Tweek.

* * *

Tweek didn't make a sound, but he shifted in Craigs lap, hand seeking warm skin. Craig lifted his own and wrapped his fingers around Tweeks brittle, frozen hands.

"Visiting hours are over." A tart but quiet voice echoed from the door. Craig looked up and found an old prune of a nurse, mouth permanently stitched into a frown.

With a roll of his eyes Craig carefully extricated himself from Tweek, making sure to keep him asleep and tucking the blankets more tightly around him.

Grabbing the pad of paper and pen off Tweeks bedside table he scribbled a quick explanation and apology down. He brushed a cautious kiss against the corner of Tweek's mouth, ignoring the way the old nurse's lips tightened, and tucked the note into his hands.

"Be back soon." Craig promised, slipping off the bed and into his shoes. Tweek frowned and grumbled unhappily, hand creeping into the warm sheets Craig had left behind, searching for him.

"Come along." The nurse's voice was vivid with distaste. Craig flipped her off behind her back and followed her out the door. They could evict him for now but they couldn't stop him from coming back.

* * *

Bebe looked up when the nurse slammed the door with more force than strictly necessary. Her face was sour and pinched, as if she were sucking on lemons. Walking behind her with his head down was Craig.

The nurse left him and he walked in Bebe's general direction, face preoccupied.

"How'd it go?" She asked quietly. Craig looked up.

A tiny smile lit up his face. The first she could ever remember seeing. It was beautiful.

"I think it'll be okay." He murmured.

"Thank god." Bebe whispered, shutting her eyes.

* * *

**a/n**

It might be worth noting that Tweeks father in no way is sorry for what he did and is in fact a rapist asshole. Just saying XD

Author out _-peace sign-_


	22. Fixing Me

I have come to a crossroads in this story: Should I end it now and have everyone live happily ever after as it is, or should I finish it later since I have way more story planned out? Help me decide! D:

Enjoy!

**n/a**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty Two: The Way to Mend Every Broken Thing**

.

..

.

_**Even angels have their wicked schemes / and you take that to new extremes / but you'll always be my hero / even though you've lost your mind**_

_**Skylar Grey, Love the Way You Lie**_

_._

Tweek ran nervous fingers over the tubes in his arms, counting them over and over again. It hurt when he didn't take enough care and bumped them. He concentrated on that, the short list of numbers and the careful run of his fingertips over cool, curved plastic.

The note sat on the bedside table and he avoided thinking about that, the words, and the boy.

There was dangerous hope in his chest and he wrestled with it, weakened in the uncertainty that he should be fighting it at all. He had been told that he could hope. He thought he could interpret it that way at least. He hoped.

He knew that hope was inevitable when the door opened and his jerked up, fingers stilling, heart pressed up against his ribcage.

He mouthed the name without thought, breath giving it no sound. _Craig?_

Wendy peeked around the door-frame, nervous hand fluttering somewhere in the vicinity of her mouth.

"Hello." Tweek said when the disappointment had abated. His voice cracked.

"Hi." Wendy breathed, a warm smile lighting up her face like sunrise. Tweek smiled back tentatively, lips unfamiliar in the curve but feeling very right.

Wendy moved to his bedside with cautious steps. Tweek sat up a little. The air was thick with uncertainty. She glanced at him as if for permission before settling in the chair by the bed. That amused him, a little. That she would need his permission.

Tweek stirred after a few minutes of awkward staring, aware that he owed her to talk. At the very least he owed her that.

"How's everybody?" his voice cracked again and he noticed that she gave a little flinching blink when it did. The urge to apologize flared up but he ignored it.

"We're fine, I guess." Wendy gave a helpless flutter of her hands. "Everyone wants to see you... The doctors said it might not be a good idea to have everyone all at once though."

"Craig came in." Tweek said without thinking.

Wendy paused, examining him with more perception that Tweek liked.

"Did he." It wasn't a question. "What did he say?" Tweek flinched at her tone.

"He... He apologized." He ducked his head and pulled his body into himself, wrapping arms around his fragile ribs and tucking his fingers in for warmth.

"Should you let him in so easily?" Wendy asked quietly. "After everything he did to you?"

Tweek sighed. She thought that what Craig had done was unforgivable. It wasn't. He had only done what felt right. He had only been protecting himself. She didn't understand the way Tweek's heart had looped strands of his soul around Craig, that he was so tied by his love that he would walk on water for him.

* * *

"You don't understand." He sounded so certain. She needed to see his eyes, Wendy thought wildly, to be sure.

"Then help me understand." She reached out and put a hand on his. He shrugged half-heartedly, not looking up.

"He owns me." His voice was quiet, faint and almost unheard in the dry, still hospital air.

Wendy stared at him, wondering what he meant, if she had heard him right. Tweek glanced up with a smile on his face that looked real, looked bittersweet, but how could she tell? What could he possibly have meant?

"I..." she said before the confusion strangled her voice.

"Maybe you'll understand someday." He pulled his hands out from under hers so he could pat her on the shoulder. "I hope so."

Wendy wondered how he had so easily reversed their roles. Now she felt like it was her not quite grasping the truth. She just didn't _understand._

A tentative knock broke their impasse. They both jumped

"Come in." Tweek called. Wendy shook herself.

Craig stuck his head around the door.

In an effort not to look at him Wendy glanced at Tweek and found herself transfixed by his expression.

It had to be the happiest expression she had seen on his face in… ever, actually. An pure adoration that she realized was the light she had always seen on his face around Craig, shaded, restrained, and unrealized.

And maybe she could understand what Tweek meant by 'owning'. When you loved someone this much, literally lived and died by their words, how could you help but feel like you didn't belong to yourself anymore?

"Hey." Craig said quietly. Wendy turned to look back at him and found a protective light there. He walked over to the far side of the bed and reached out to Tweek. Tweek smiled and put his hand in Craigs.

"I'll just… go, then." She said, feeling awkward and more than a little envious. Tweek blinked, attention wrenched from Craig.

"Wait up a minute." Craig said, hand tucked securely around Tweeks, looking her squarely in the eye. "I have to apologize."

"No, really-," Wendy made to stand.

A cold hand wrapped around her wrist, stopping her dead. Tweek tugged, muscles too weak to do more than that.

"Please." He said quietly. "You guys need to fix this."

"Fine." Wendy said reluctantly. Craig took a deep breath.

"Wendy, I am so sorry for everything I said to you. I'm sorry I made you do those things to Tweek. I'm sorry for not listening to you. I hope you can forgive me." His face was serious. The sarcasm was gone, the banter that usually shielded his real self, and without it he was so much… softer.

Wendy felt the anger and distance she hadn't even realized she was holding between them weaken. She had really missed Craig.

* * *

Visitors hours were long over and Craig and Wendy gone when the doctor arrived. The door opened confidently and the tall man in the green scrubs came in. He was holding his clipboard as always. Tweek was learning a deep hatred for that clipboard.

"Well then, Mister Tweak, how are you feeling?" The doctor asked cheerfully. Tweek examined him suspiciously. He disliked his last name and wasn't sure why the doctor insisted on using it.

"…Fine." He said evenly after a few moments. He hid his shaking hands under his sheets.

"Good, good. Now…" The doctor pulled over a chair and sat next to the bed, setting his clipboard on the sheets. Tweek sat up straighter. This was something new.

"We need to talk about your… unfortunate condition upon arriving here."

Tweeks hands clenched involuntarily.

"I took a lot of pills." Tweek said, striving for his even tone. He thought he knew where this was headed and no, no, he wouldn't let it go there.

"That's not what I'm talking about and I think you know it." The doctor said gently. "I'm talking about your bruises, especially the ones on your throat and… genital region."

Tweek flinched.

"It's nothing." His voice betrayed him, going high with stress. He didn't want to do this. He didn't want _anyone_ to know. He could feel his world cracking again, his tenuous balance in this wonderful place tipping.

"Tweek, you have pretty obvious signs of physical and sexual abuse." The doctor finally lost his patience with his verbal games.

"I _told_ you. It's _nothing_." Tweek snapped, fingers claws in the sheets. The doctor observed him with sad eyes.

"You'll have to speak to the counselor your father will hire, at least." He asked, sounding resigned. Tweek shook his head, dismissing the idea silently. No one would know. No one would ever, _ever_ know, _ever._

* * *

**n/a**

I have a terrible desire to make Mr. Makey the counselor ._.


	23. This is a Secret

So I decided to keep going for the longer version, which might mean six or more sections, maybe less, I have no idea! But there is an end planned out, never fear this is an orphaned project ;) I swear I'm not lying this time ._.

But Tweeks stepdad is going to get what's coming to him if it kills me .

Enjoy!

**n/a**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty Three: Would It be Enough to Keep This Just Between Us?**

.

..

.

_**Please keep your hands down / and stop raising your voice / it's hardly what I'd be doing / if you gave me the choice**_

_**-Snow Patrol, 'How To Be Dead'**_

.

_Dear Kenny,_

_Don't blame yourself for that time in the bathroom. You were only trying to help me. I was the one that denied you the chance to. You genuinely cared, which is something I don't see often. Thank you for that. You helped me live. And don't blame yourself for anything else. You don't have to be guilty. _

_Hey, and tell Stan. He loves you too. _

_Love, Tweek_

Kenny stared at the paper. It was clean, the letters clear and on the lines. Possibly the first Tweek had written.

He reached for his crappy phone and keyed in the only number he knew by heart.

"Hey, Stan..."

* * *

"Hey, son." his father smiled at him. He looked so benign around others. It was almost sickening, how easily he donned a mask and slipped out of sight.

Craig looked at his father. Tweek could see distaste in his eyes, some sort of instinctive dislike for the man, but there was no base for it and thus he would leave. He stood up, moving to the door. He didn't know. He couldn't save Tweek without knowing, and _wouldn't_ save Tweek if he knew.

Tweek felt more than he heard his teeth creak as he tightened his jaw against the words threatening to spill out.

Craig closed the door behind him, shutting Tweek in.

"So."

Tweek flinched, and his father grinned, looking around. There were no cameras in this room, no security to save Tweek. The most he could hope for was that the threat of someone walking in would stop his father from anything physical.

"Nice deal you go here. Looks like your little friends like you again. You and that fag making eyes at each other." Tweek hated the way his father could soil everything he loved just by talking about them. It was a special, awful talent.

"I…" Tweek stuttered.

"Shut up." His father's voice was whip-sharp, striking the words from his tongue. "Who said you could talk? You _owe_ me, you little bitch. You almost died. I. Wasn't. _Finished_. With. You." Each word was a weight, dropping into Tweek's stomach like lead. The intent in his father's face was cruelly open, advertising clearly the purpose of his arrival.

Tweek whimpered, his sound drawing a sadistic grin to his fathers face.

"You won't tell anyone about this." He said conversationally. Tweek nodded, sharply, his neck cracking painfully with the force of the movement. His father took slow, measured steps towards the bed and every one cut into Tweek with an uncontrollable terror.

"No one would accept you if they knew." The poisoned, honeyed, reasonable voice continued as his father lifted his open hand. Tweek gasped and flinched away, tears gathered in his eyes already, but it was too late. The slap smacked across his cheek with a white-hot sting. Not hard enough to bruise.

His father was prying his hands away from his face in instants, pressing a cool, wet cloth to the mark. Not concern, never concern. He just wished to erase the proof.

"They would turn you away. They would hate how disgusting you've become." His father smiled down benevolently and Tweek stared back, tears slipping to join the wetness in the cloth.

"You know this, right?" His father tested, leaning over him just a little bit more, just a little more predatory. Tweek understood. He really did. His father was right. This was a secret he needed to keep so well that no one ever even suspected.

No one.

Especially not Craig.

"Yes father." he whispered quietly.

* * *

Craig stood the moment Tweek's dad walked out of his room. He was walking jauntily, an air of triumph about him.

Craig snorted in disgust. It was obvious that he didn't care about Tweek at all.

"Craig?" The man asked. Craig blinked, startled.

"Yeah?" He said cautiously.

"I just wanted to thank you for helping Tweek. He has a lot of problems. We had a good talk just now, and I hope you know how much I appreciate what you've done for Tweek." He smiled sincerely, extending a hand to Craig.

Warily Craig returned the gesture, surprised by how honest his grip seemed. With a inward grimace however he noted how tight the mans hand was. Too tight, almost painful.

"Um... You're welcome?" he replied. Tweek's dad flashed him a dazzling smile.

"Well, I have to go. It's wonderful that my son has friends like you to help him out when he needs it the most."

Craig winced inwardly, though his mask remained in place. Those words bit deep.

"Yeah... Good friends." he echoed shakily.

"Oh, and Tweek was just going to sleep when I left. You might want to let him rest." Tweek's dad gave his hand another shake and turned, exiting swiftly. Craig looked after him, dazed.

After a moment he shook himself and opened the door to Tweek's room. Tweek lay under the sheets, face turned to the window. His eyes were closed; lashes pale crescents against the shadows under his eyes.

At the sound of the door opening he stirred, eyes slitting open and sliding over to see who it was.

"Hey." Craig whispered softly, lips curving into a smile that felt unfamiliar on his face.

Tweek's lips curved into an answering smile. It was tired, sad, a little wistful. Craig frowned.

"What's the matter?" He asked quietly. Tweek turned his head back and forth against the pillow. It took Craig a moment to realize he was shaking his head.

_Nothing_

"Ok. Sleep then. I'll be here when you wake up." he murmured.

Tweek gave him that sad smile, closed his eyes, and turned his face back to the sunny window.

* * *

**n/a**

Hey there! You made it through! :D Have a cookie -offers cookie-

Cold wet cloth = effective treatment for red marks :) i swear by it

NEXT CHAPTER: We meet the counselor! Who might be Mr. Mackey. Or I might be lying ;D


	24. Like a Puzzle

Close enough to on time... See, I didn't lie! Unabandoned. Merry Christmas you guys :) early present ;D

This is all happening somewhat simultaneously, for the record.

**a/n**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Four: More Difficult to Let the Pieces Fall Where They May**

.

..

.

_**You were standing in the wake of devastation / you were waiting on the edge of the unknown / with the cataclysm raining down / insides crying save me now / you were there impossibly alone **_

_**Linkin Park, 'Iridescent'**_

.

_It's a dream._

_Tweek opens his eyes in the lunchroom with the knowledge in his head as firm as his belief in gravity._

_He's sitting in the place where the pretty girls sat, the ones with the short skirts and tasteful makeup, in the very center where all could go past and admire them. He looks around instinctively for them to come and tell him to disappear._

_He is alone._

_He finds this comforting, the long empty tables, crooked chairs and dirty floor shining under the dusty fluorescent lights. The only sound is the quiet, even shushing of his breathing. This place is safe, and he wonders idly why no one would want to be here._

* * *

Mr. Biggles' practice wasn't very big, even though it was the only one in town. No one ever came to see a therapist for the blatant insanity running rampant in the town. It annoyed him sometimes that he had so many potential patients that simply denied the obvious need for treatment.

But it was large enough to hire a receptionist, so when the phone rang he could safely ignore it.

"Hello, Biggle Psychiatry mmkay?" His receptionist answered cheerfully.

Mr. Biggle winced. He wished, god he wished he could replace Mr. Mackey, but every time he tried to lay him off the man threatened to take him to court over 'discrimination against the disabled'. Mr. Biggle didn't have the money for a court case like that AND a practice of his own. Someday though. Someday he would never, ever have to hear that stupid verbal tic again.

"Appointment for a Mr. Tweak at two, mmkay?" Mr. Mackey buzzed up.

Mr. Biggle winced again.

* * *

_After an interminable time Tweek finds that the silence, though comforting, is lonely. He wishes anothers breathing would stir the air. The stillness makes everything seem so slow and unimportant._

_Tweek gets to his feet and drifts to the door of the corridor. He wonders if there will be people here. Is the world empty? He finds the thought almost unbearably sad._

_The corridor is as empty as the lunchroom. Much time seems to have passed since anyone moved in this place. Dust is thick on the floor. It doesn't move under the phantom pad of his feet._

_Tweek wanders, looking in the classrooms he passes. They are empty as well; chairs turned straight to the front of the room, chalkboards perfectly clean, if dusty. It is the same comforting emptiness as before. But the stillness is slowing him down even more and he wishes he wasn't the only thing moving in the whole world._

_There is no one in the school, he finally decides. The outside seems to hold the most promise._

* * *

Mary pulls Craig aside after her exits the room. He stands under her scrutiny for a long time, holding down the instinct to run.

"You were sincere." It's a statement that dares him to contradict him, and he doesn't. It was absolutely true. And he is brave enough to admit that he's just a little scared of the alien judgment in her eyes. He's not used to someone he knows and who knows him so well weighing his personality like that.

"Yes?" he says when it becomes apparent that silence won't cut it. He tries to make it firm and immovable. It comes out a question.

"Hmmmmmm." She hums under her breath, her eyes never leaving his.

He holds his breath and denies to himself that he is so that he can keep his self respect.

"I believe you." Breath releases from him explosively. "But I can't forgive you yet, especially not for Tweek. You can understand that right?"

He feels a little sick to the stomach, to be honest, but he understands. He's not sure yet if there is anything he can do, but he'll try anyway.

* * *

_He opens the front doors, their ponderous weight swinging more easily than he could ever remember them doing so. The sunlight that spills in is thick and golden, slowly melting over the dusty floor like honey._

_When he steps out a breeze plucks at his clothes and he shuts his eyes in sheer relief that the peaceful stillness has been broken. The sunlight plays over his skin like a physical touch and he can see the snow but not feel its chill. He steps onto it and delights in the way his footsteps leave no traces._

_He barely exists in this netherworld, he knows. He does not know if there are other ghosts like him. It seems important, even if his solid facts do not explain why._

_The streets stretch away around him, empty. The breeze sends glittering snowflakes spinning like diamonds in the air, and turns over silvered leaves. He turns this way and that, wondering what he's looking for. His feet dance through the snow, insubstantial as love._

* * *

There is silence at the other end of the line. Kenny bites his lip savagely. He's shaking. He's an earthquake. He's going to kill himself and make Stan forget this and come back and still have him. He is lined with fear. He is buried in grief. His nerves are transmitting heartbreak in telegraph long and short bursts, thoughts small as '_no'_ and complicated as '_how will I live without you, Stan?'_

_Please god say something_, he begs silently.

"I..." Stand breathed at last. Kenny is crying fat bitter tears, he can feel them, but when he touches his cheeks they are dry. There are glass splinters in his heart, terrible transparent pain that must by necessity cease or Kenny knows he will die.

"Kenny, can I come over?" Stan says at last. Kenny clings to hope like a drowning man.

"O-of course." He mutters, voice catching. Stan stays on the line for a few awkward seconds. Kenny pulls each rush of his breathing against and around himself like armor.

* * *

_There is line of trampled steps in the snow._

_Tweek nudges one foot into a boot impression, despairing of how small his feet are. He matches his strides to the one wearing boots. The wearer is hesitant, paces slow and small, stopping now and then to stamp his feet. Tweek faithfully matches every step._

_He is heading towards Starks Pond, Tweek decides slowly._

_He wonders if whoever it is will be waiting there._

* * *

Bebe is... somewhere.

Yeah, somewhere.

There's loud music and smoke hazing the atmosphere and people are talking loudly nearby.

Bebe surfaces for a moment, recognizes the dump. It's some club downtown, she knows it's name. She does.

She makes to stand up but the whole room is swaying and blurry. She falls back down, brain thumping painfully against the walls of her skull. Why is she here? There's a reason she's here, something about white walled rooms. She had been crying. She can feel the sore, dry salt-sting tracks on her face. It hurts to remember, it hurts her mind and her heart. Her stomach churns nauseatingly.

There's a bottle in her hand.

It's a nice big bottle. Heavy. Honest in her hand.

She puts it to her mouth. It's half-full.

She swallows.

She's... somewhere.

* * *

_The footsteps lead out across the ice._

_Tweek steps forwards slowly, for once uncertain. The footsteps have more purpose here. They do not stop, they do not waver. They track a straight line across the ice._

_The ice creaks. Tweek does not know if it's his feet and his dust-laden weight, or the tectonic movement of the water underneath, but he picks his way cautiously nonetheless._

_He doesn't know what will happen if he falls through._

* * *

_Wnt 2 cum ovr?_

Token fiddles with his phone, glancing down at the text every once in a while. He snaps the phone shut decisively and sets it down. He remembers he hasn't found a solution yet, winces, and picks it up.

He opens up a reply. He closes it. He repeats this for a while.

The hell with it.

_Not today, srry._

* * *

_Tweek stops a step away from where the line of tracks ends._

_It ends just there, one more bootprint and then clean white snow. It stops. No impressions tell a different story. A person evaporated, no trace to be seen. Tweek shifts, anxiety bleeding through his thoughts, and kneels. He puts out a hand and lets his fingers trail through the snow. There is no resistance to his touch. There is no trace he ever was._

_He stands again, splaying a hand beside him and gracelessly reaching for balance. There is nothing else to do, now._

_But take the last step._

_He does._

_The ice gives one creak, one loud crack like gunfire, and he throws himself forward but there is a hole widening, gaping, and he falls. His fingertips brush the lip of ice._

_Water closes over him, and there is nothing like peace in that cold._

* * *

**n/a**

Told ya Mr. Mackey would be involved ;D


End file.
